Paper trails
by kalabangsilver
Summary: Ardelia Mapp is on a mission - to save Starling from the clutches of Hannibal Lecter. Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Starling and her companion have their own problems, least of which are a few connecting paper trails...
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1 – The Buenos Aires connection_

.

In the end, it all boils down to money. Everyone has a price and realising Barney's was the key to finding Starling. However, whilst Barney had been the key to the case, locating Starling could not be solely attributed to him. Special Agent Ardelia Mapp played the largest role.

Ardelia Mapp knew her search for her probably long-dead-and-eaten friend bordered on obsessive, but she was not a woman who took kindly to giving up on someone. So, she ignored the best advice of her colleagues and friends and pushed on with the case. Part of the reason, perhaps, was guilt. That fateful night, the night that Clarice Starling had disappeared, Mapp had not been home. For the life of her, she could not remember where she had been, but it had not been where she needed to be; home, holding Starling back from making the most rash and possibly fatal mistake of her life. She had not been there for her friend in her time of need.

Guilt was a strong motivator. For the past three years, she had been the sole force keeping the case out of the cold case unit. Now, she sat in an armchair, beside a small coffee table, trying to rectify the situation. Dr Lecter's former caretaker and guard, known to her as 'Barney', sat across from her.

Barney had aged very little from the photograph in the original file - taken nine years ago. He was still a large man and well built, but the years had softened his features. Though his mass was not as solid as it once was, he still cut a formidable figure. As she examined his face, wondering how best to start up their negotiations, Mapp reminded herself to remain on respectful terms. Barney watched her back, with a quiet air of apprehension.

Right. Mapp took a deep breath to calm herself. This needed to go right. If it didn't, it could jeopardise everything she had worked for.

"We both know why I'm here." Mapp folded her hands on top of one knee.

Barney nodded, then glanced towards a blonde woman – presumably his girlfriend or roommate – who had been standing to his left, one hand on his shoulder.

"Honey, can you fetch the agent a drink. Cranberry juice okay, Agent Mapp?" he asked, turning back to her with an expression of polite reserve.

She nodded.

"That was Lisa, my partner," he explained, nodding towards the exiting woman.

Mapp smiled politely, in return.

On the surface, they looked like two colleagues, or even old friends having a quiet afternoon tea together. Hidden agendas hovered, however, not so far below the surface. Barney's girlfriend returned with two glasses of juice and a plate of biscuits, setting them down with a 'clunk' on the table. Mapp murmured her thanks, eager for her to leave so that they could get down to the crux of the matter.

"Now, I know we have established why you are here, Agent Mapp, but would you mind repeating it, for the purposes of" he paused, shifting on the chair and folding his shovel-like hands "a contract."

The armchair creaked under his immense weight.

"Well, it's been three years, Barney. I'm guessing we can both dispense with the idea I'm here on a social visit."

The ex-guard waited. He had every right to be cautious, Mapp didn't blame him. Trading information on Hannibal Lecter's whereabouts with the FBI could be considered rude. And Barney of all people knew Lecter's opinion of the rude. Barney's words from the old FBI interview tape echoed inside Mapp's head. It made her shiver, wondering where Starling was now. But those words were also her reason for believing Clarice might still be alive. She remembered what her friend had told her; that she doubted that Lecter would harm her, that she had always treated him with respect.

"_You_ called _me_, Barney," she reminded him.

Barney made no move to speak. He wanted her to be the first to mention the money. So, she did.

"Three hundred thousand, Barney, that's a lot of money for an SHO." The ex-guard blinked, jaw tightening slightly. It was the only indication he was listening.

One week ago, three hundred thousand dollars had been wired to an offshore account by the FBI. The money would be paid in receipt of Lecter's capture, to the informant whose information had led to that capture. The reason for this was a small, but incredibly well shot photograph of a bus crash in the back pages of a local newspaper. The photograph was of a young teacher kneeling over the body of a student, paramedics rushing towards the scene. Sad though it was, Mapp would normally not have looked at the article twice. She scoped three international newspapers every morning, she didn't have the time. However, there was something in this photograph that caught her eye. Among the sea of faces in over the photographed scene, she spotted someone familiar.

Perhaps it was fate that Mapp had chosen the daily mail in her selection for that morning. If she had picked up the telegraph, or the guardian, Starling's face would never have been seen by her, the FBI wouldn't have prioritised the case, money would have never been wired and Barney wouldn't have ventured forwards with his valuable information. After all, three hundred thousand was an awful lot of money.

Mapp gestured to a photo of Barney and his girlfriend, holidaying on the beachfront, surfboards and underarm.

"I hear it's an expensive place to live, LA." Barney gave a soft sound to the affirmative. "I guess three hundred grand would get you up and started." Mapp decided to try a different tactic "The money you make from selling your... artefacts" Barney's eyes narrowed "is pretty good, but an Ocean view," Mapp blew out a heavy breath, shrugging "that's expensive. And with the baby on the way..." she let the sentence trail off, watching Barney carefully.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face at the mention of his girlfriend's currently unseen condition. Mapp congratulated herself on checking his girlfriend's hospital records.

"You don't need to talk it up, Ardelia, I called you, remember?"

Mapp felt a tug on the end of her line. He was thinking about it, he was considering her offer. But the hour was late and she really needed a bite.

"You sound like you might need some convincing." She unfolded her hands, leaning forwards slightly in the deep armchair. "In fact, you're seemin' a bit reluctant to give up the good doctor, Barney" her tone hardened "but, you see, he knows where Starling is. And let me tell you, Barney; whatever don't bode well for Starling, don't bode well for you."

The two stared each other down. Mapp forced her gaze to hold steady. Barney twitched slightly. Was he swimming away?

"I want five, not three. I don't deal for nothing less." He sat back, lifting his chin to frown down on her. "And I want relocation and protection until he's in custody, for me, my partner and her family." Mapp nodded.

"That can be arranged," Mapp hoped she hadn't given into his demands too quickly. "Once your information is checked out, of course" She added.

Barney's eyes narrowed, but he nodded his agreement to her terms.

Mapp leant back in her chair, trying to temper her growing excitement.

"Speak facts then, Barney."

Considering the weight of his next words, Barney did not pause for very long before speaking.

"Buenos Aires. Twenty months ago. Check the social security number of the owner of a three-series Merc, black, sedan, registration plates SY15 002. Run a check on the owner's bank accounts. He will have more than one. Cross reference. See if you can find common connection between the two; a deposit or a transfer." Barney gave a grim smile. "You'll only catch this guy if you get lucky, or he gets stupid. And the Doctor doesn't do stupid."

Mapp noticed that Barney still used Lecter's title.

"I'm not meaning to sound negative, Agent Mapp, but it has been nearly eighteen months since I saw him. He'll probably be on the other side of the world by now."

Mapp nodded. Barney sat back up, grip tight on his glass of cranberry juice. He took a sip. Then, like an afterthought, he added;

"The bank account will be registered in her name."

"Her?"

Mapp, despite herself, found her voice trembling slightly in the sound of the simple word 'her', hope like Mapp hadn't felt in months sprung up in her chest. Barney nodded, a tinge of pity in his eyes at how desperately she had received the news of Starling's survival. He clearly had low hopes of them finding Starling alive, or well.

"Oldest trick of the trade." he smiled, mirthlessly. "Any connections - however tentative - between his past and future identities will be through her identity. You're searching for a white _male._ He's trying to avoid your search parameters_._"

Mapp's heart sank with the futility of her situation. She knew that there was little chance for her friend. She knew that well, pondered it every day since Special Agent Clarice Starling had been taken from her. But even if there was the slightest chance that Clarice was alive... Mapp frowned and pushed dark thoughts from her mind. Now, with a lead more solid than any they had received before, was not the time to give up. Now was the time for a second wind.

Mapp nodded, as if concluding the interview, and stood up, gathering her suit jacket around her and searching for the bag which she had placed beside the armchair.

From the chair opposite, Barney sighed contemplatively.

"And try London. He always said he wanted to live in London."

Ardelia Mapp nodded again.

"Thanks, sir. I'll keep that in mind."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2 – London skies_

_._

Rain splatters against the windows of a London townhouse. The house itself, near Belsize gardens, is ordinary enough by all appearances. Its large windows are framed neatly in stone. Stone walls give way to trimmed hedges and a perfectly manicured lawn. A path leads up to the house's black wooden door. All of its paving slabs are tidily devoid of weeds and other offending plant life. A midnight blue Mercedes is parked in the narrow driveway, a solitary deckchair placed on the lawn, brought round from the back of the house where its partner resides. It is a normal enough house, by most accounts.

The person standing, framed in the downstairs bay window, appears to be alone. She has been sitting there for some time now, her silhouette light against glass darkened by the overcast sky. She dresses simply, in dark trousers and a loose shirt, casual clothing. Her arms are folded across her chest and the expression on her handsome face is serious as she watches the car in the driveway. The car's occupancy of the driveway means more to her than anyone watching could understand.

Clarice Starling unfolded her hands, straightening the hem of her shirt over the waistband of her trousers. Her copper hair was finally back to its original colour – a point of contention between her and the owner of the Mercedes in the driveway. Starling's eyes swept over the garden, away from the midnight blue car. Everything was still. Everything was where it should be. The car had not been there last night, when she went upstairs to bed. So, the car's owner had only recently returned from his wanderings. He must be somewhere inside the dark, cavernous house. Starling listened carefully. Around her, the house was quiet. She could not hear anyone moving upstairs, nor had she see any lights on as she made her way down from her bedroom.

It was seven in the morning. She had been awake since half six, intending to go out for a run. The torrential patter of rain on the windows had soon dissuaded her of that. Infernal British weather.

Of all the types of rain Starling had experienced during their stay in London, this was her least favourite; heavy drizzle, coming almost horizontally from the grey surrounding sky. She had never minded running in the rain, it was more the oppressive closeness of the sky that kept her indoors this morning. It felt two feet above her head and falling. It was always falling here. Starling couldn't remember when, or even if there had been a whole week without rain since their arrival. Starling yawned widely, feeling lethargic – a drowsiness induced by inactivity – and reprimanded herself. It was childish to blame her melancholy mood on the surroundings. She was just feeling lonely after being in the dark house for three days, on her own.

The park gardens were open, Starling supposed, she could take a run down there. She liked the park. It was the only green space for miles, the only open space for miles. Having been raised in Virginia, and the wide open arable lands of the plains, she missed the big sky just as much as the prairie. Another pang bit deep in Starling's stomach. How could she be homesick? A fugitive had no home to miss.

A snide voice, one very familiar to her, sounded in the back of her mind. _Separation anxiety, Clarice?_ She bit the inside of her lip and frowned.

The door to the living room creaked softly. Starling's eyes did not leave the view from the window. She already knew who had crept into the room. It was the owner of the midnight blue Mercedes and the only other inhabitant of the dark London house. Her companion, she ought to call him, though he had been precious little company of late. She heard a soft footfall somewhere to her left as he treaded, as calmly and precisely as a cat, towards her. Stalking, Starling could only compare it to. Still, she did not turn her head away from the window.

He halted beside her. Starling could hear his breath as he inhaled her deeply, taking in her scent and affirming with what he remembered. It was a familiar, maddening repetition. Starling's musculature tautened, in preparation for verbal manipulation of some sort. They had parted on bad terms and she wasn't quite sure of his current mood yet, not without looking at him. They stood for a moment, caught in the silence. Then, the man behind her exhaled heavily. His chest brushed against her shoulder, his muscles were relaxed. He was tired. Despite the circumstances of their parting, Starling felt her initial tension slide away. He did not want to play and she did not want to fight. She had been devoid of human company for too long to drive away the one human whose company she could count on as constant.

She turned to face her companion and took in a breath, scenting him as he had to her. He smelled of rain and leather – the inside of the blue Mercedes he had parked on the wet driveway. The two looked at each other for a moment, the tiniest hint of a challenge passing between their eyes. He was daring her to ask where he had been for the past few days. It was a challenge concerning the power balance more than anything. Starling remained silent. Every month, or so, he would disappear, sometimes leaving her for up to a week at a time. He never said where he went, or what he did there, and she never asked. This arrangement existed under the pretence of mutual respect. It was not as if she did not have her own private haunts and wanderings. She liked the moorland and the wild fens of northern England. The sky was larger there and the weather wild. She would drive up and lose herself happily for days in the semi-wilderness, returning only when her head was clear. However, her desire to hear the thunder and see lightening again was never sated, even up on the moors.

Outside their London home, the sky shifted ominously, threatening a heavier deluge to come. Starling glanced outside then back to her companion. He was dry, but freshly changed. The scent of rain still clung to him like the lingering scent of him on her sheets.

"I miss the storms." She spoke on a sigh.

He made no move or sound for almost a full minute, and then leant closer, moving to stand behind her, slightly to the left. One of his fingers brushed against the paler skin of her inner wrist – a motion of solidarity perhaps. Starling watched the rain become heavier, individual raindrops now visible as they landed on the garden path. They did not speak, as they stood together.

The pair do not seem like a monster and his prisoner. They appear, just like they did to Barney in Buenos Aires, to be companions, their relationship unexplainable to anyone but themselves. We leave them in the dark London house. Would it surprise you to know that they left London the very next day? It certainly would Agent Mapp, with her even smaller knowledge on the subject of the duo's relationship. They left the next morning (he's always liked whimsy), abandoning the life and objects they had collected in London. He took her back to her homeland, because she wanted to see big skies and lightning and feel the balmy summer air on her face; he flew halfway around the world because Starling missed the storms.

He reads Dante. The thunder rolling over the plains is her poetry.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3 – Vale_

_._

Agent Ardelia Mapp glanced up from her case file, a storm brewing beneath her furrowed brow. Her head was pounding. She had been fruitlessly following paper trails all day. Registration numbers, credit cards, bank accounts under three aliases, none of which had led her anywhere near Hannibal Lecter. It was like trying to catch the invisible man with both hands tied behind her back. All Mapp could do was lunge in the most plausible direction and hope she stumbled over a clue.

Mapp cursed to herself, dropping the file and throwing herself back in her chair. Starling would have already cracked this. Starling had always seen connections, even in messes such as these ones. She had just _felt_ the case, _felt _Lecter. She had thought like him and predicted his movements. Mapp was afraid she lacked her friend's intuition.

She looked around the office for the first time in hours and realised it was almost abandoned. Most of the other members of the team assigned to the Lecter case had gone home for the weekend. At the far side of the room, at a corner desk, a young agent pored over his computer screen. Young and eager to impress, she thought bitterly. He probably hadn't seen his family in weeks. That part didn't get better with experience. Mapp had not seen her on-off boyfriend in over two weeks. She wasn't sure what they even counted as a relationship anymore, but was loathe to sever ties with one of the last stable things in her life.

Mapp brought her pen back to her mouth and chewed the end. Her eyes drifted back to the had to have slipped up, made a mistake somewhere. Mapp glared down, trying to decipher her own scraggly hand-writing from her piles of notes.

The registered owner of the car whose plates Barney had given her, was a Dr Alessandro Russo. Russo was an American national with a permanent visa. He appeared perfectly legit – too perfectly. If there was anything she had learned over the course of her time with the FBI it was that too good meant too good to be true. Every search Mapp had done on him turned up the same information. He had lived, two years ago, in a spacious villa just out of town. He had two bank accounts and three credit cards registered in his name. The money in both bank accounts had been deposited in cash over the space of a few weeks. He was untraceable.

Mapp felt a quiver of hatred well inside her as she looked at the name. However clean Russo appeared, she knew it was Lecter.

"Where are you, you bastard?" she murmured, leafing back to the beginning of the file yet again. "Where have you hidden her?" he thoughts turned back to Starling as she flicked pages with calloused fingertips.

Clarice Starling was still alive, if Barney's information was good. (And Mapp suspected it was, because five hundred thousand was nothing to be sniffed at, even for fear of appearing rude). But what state would she be in when Mapp found her, if she found her?

She tossed the file aside again, feeling childish as she did so, but too frustrated to care. The young agent across the room glanced up from his own work. Ah for the keenness of the young, Mapp thought wistfully back to Quantico, those days with Starling at the FBI academy, the pair of them eager and full of dreams and unshakable beliefs.

Saddened by the memories, Mapp left. She rode her battered sedan back home, to the duplex she now owned both sides of and stood for a while in Starling's empty bedroom, which now functioned as her study. In a morbid twist, the walls were papered with the same files Starling herself had lived and breathed while working the Lecter case. Hannibal Lecter's eyes stared down at her from a mugshot over the old bedside table. Mapp returned to her half of the duplex, shutting the door behind her, leaving only Hannibal Lecter to watch over the place where Clarice Starling used to sleep.

...

Mapp woke early to run, seven o' clock as she always did. Starling would have been up at six. She did her workout and showered, brushing her longish hair back into a neat clasp in her usual minimalist effort to keep up appearances. There was no point, really. She wasn't going anywhere but work - even though it was a Saturday. Mapp dimly remembered making loose arrangements with her on-off boyfriend, Charlie, that evening, but couldn't remember whether they had set anything up or not. Even if they had, a meal, a movie and a pizza on front of the TV would be the most of it; not exactly dressing up material. The relationship had reached that slightly-too-comfortable stage, where neither of them bothered that much anymore.

She made her way through to the kitchen and scoured the fridge for something that resembled edible foodstuffs. Three boxes of half eaten Chinese, all in varying stages of decay, greeted her. Perhaps she would leave them until later to clean up, or better yet, until Charlie came around and tried to eat them. He could throw them out for her. Mapp closed the fridge and ventured into the cupboards, fairly confidant she had bought bread within the last week. Sure enough, she managed to produce a slightly stale and battered loaf, which she proceeded to burn in an ancient seventies-style toaster that had belonged to her mother. She was just finishing her toast and jam, charcoal biting somewhat at her palate and considering how much a new toaster would cost her, when the telephone rang.

"Mapp here."

"Hey, Agent Mapp?"

Crap. Work. Wishing she had checked to caller ID before she had answered, Mapp pulled on her best professional voice.

"Speaking. How can I help you, Mr..?"

"Its Agent Vale here" the man on the other end of the phone paused for a moment, as if expecting his name to spark recognition "we worked together on that fraud case, two months ago, the Arlington bank heist... remember me?"

"Yeah, 'course." Mapp had no recollection, but feigned polite interest. "How can I help, Agent Vale?"

Agent Vale sounded twenty years old. He probably worked for Complaints, Mapp thought. The FBI Complaints department and Ardelia Mapp had a long established and rather embittered relationship. The call was probably about her budget. The Lecter was what accountants liked to call a financial haemorrhage. From the day Starling disappeared and Lecter walked for the second time, all funds spent on further investigation were classed as wastage in the eyes of the FBI's money men. Suits from the Finance department had alerted Complaints to the situation, and Mapp had spent the last few months in legal fisticuffs. Personally, Mapp didn't care if she'd overspent. She would tell them to take the money from next month's pay check if she had to.

"I've been looking over the Lecter-Starling case."

"Lecter case" Mapp corrected him. Her friend had enough red pen on her FBI file without being double-barrelled with Lecter on the front page of his file.

"Yeah," the young agent replied "I noticed you'd been tracking Lecter's accounts."

"I'm trying to connect any major transactions to one bank account, yes." Mapp was beginning to become weary of the situation. Her morning, stale toast and phone call included, was turning into one of those unsatisfactory days she had little patience for. "Vale, does this conversation have a point? I'm technically not even on duty." technically, but she had been working until eleven last night and thinking about the case ever since she woke.

Like she did every day, she had sifted through her daily diet of newspapers, searching for another golden nugget - perhaps a mugshot of Lecter to match her snap of Starling. Then she had stretched and gone on her run, sorting through all the things she needed to check over at the office, people she had to chase up from different departments. Mapp's mind was almost never off the case. She even dreamt about finding Starling. A voice, sounding ever-so-slightly like her old friend, muttered something about obsession in her ear, but Mapp quickly swept it under a mental carpet. Obsession implied chaos, her mission was a regimented part of her life, and one she intended to continue until Starling was back where she belonged.

Mapp frowned at the voice on the other end of the phone lines. What was this young pup playing at, anyway? He knew fine well that counterfeit was all over this case like a rash. They were experienced in matters like these. If they didn't find any connections from Russo's details then nobody could. What did he think he could possibly bring to the investigation?

"Give me a minute, Mapp; just help me out on this." Mapp sighed. Vale sounded like a career-motivated, over-eager fresh out of the Academy boy, but...

"You know something about Starling?"

"About five months ago, Lecter opened a Swiss bank account and deposited fifty thousand dollars. The bank account was registered in a woman's name." Mapp heard Vale rustling through pages, she suspected, at his desk. He probably hadn't gone home last night. "The woman was a Clarissa Matteo, who comes up on our register as fitting a description similar to Clarice Starling. She was living with a Dr Russo. You had Russo as an alias for Lecter on your files." He sounded excited "I have a house number."

"Not important, we already know where Russo was staying. How did you get this?" Mapp reached for notepad and pencil. "We checked for other inhabitants when we learned Lecter had been using the villa." Mapp was searching through her top drawer for her keys, which she had left somewhere the previous night.

"Well, she's not registered as living there in any other documentation." Vale replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "It came up when I ran a background check on some other flagged bank accounts from that same branch. I wasn't even looking for her, to tell you the truth. I was trying to find out if he used local trade, searching for a trend in his spending habits. You know, like Starling had been doing before she..." Vale trailed off, obviously becoming conscious of who he was talking to and the possible implications of his words.

Mapp, who had by this time found her keys and was heading out to the car, said nothing. Vale held his silence for a minute also, giving an unconvincing cough before shuffling through some papers. Mapp climbed into the car, still carrying the house phone on which she received the call. She would return it to its charger-cradle later, this call was too important to miss.

"Listen, I'll be in, about thirty minutes." She finally spoke. "You'd better not be starting with nothing here, kid."

"No, ma'am, I assure you!" Vale's voice piped back, as enthusiastic as ever. "I'll get my notes together and meet you in the lobby. I didn't go to Hodgins on this because I thought you'd want in on it first."

Mapp gunned the engine of her car, ready to take off. She suspected Vale might have more self-serving motive to come to her first. She was well known in the department for her ruthless approach to getting her man. New agents, especially young, trigger-happy males, tended to gravitate towards her and her kill count. Also, serial killer cases were celebrity agent hotspots. To help on a case of such importance would probably be a boost to Vale's career. Nevertheless, he was young, able and clearly had enthusiasm. And, far more importantly, he had a lead.

"Thirty minutes" she repeated "run this new intel through the systems and see what you get. If anything important comes up, call my guys upstairs running graveyard shift. And Vale?"

"Yeah?"

"What was the transaction labelled as? I need dates and the branch that Lecter opened the accounts at. I want to hit counterfeit and fraud about missing it." She would call them on her way in.

Mapp heard the line begin to go fuzzy. Her phone was too far from its cradle. As she inched the sedan away from the curb and began to head down the street, she started to lose signal completely.

"The bank account was opened at a branch in London, I think. Yeah, here it is." Vale shuffled papers. "I can't remember what it was filed under, but I've got the bank's notes here..."

London. Just like Barney had said, thought Mapp. Taking care of Lecter for eight years must have given him some insight after all.

Vale's voice came back on the line.

"The transaction was listed as the sale of some sort of livestock..."

Mapp heard vale wrestling with more papers.

"Something about..."

Something echoed darkly in Mapp's mind from those early recordings of Starling and Lecter's conversations.

"Lambs." they spoke at the same time.

On the other end of the line, Vale's crackling voice paused, confused by her seemingly psychic abilities.

"How did you know that?" Vale asked. The house phone's signal fizzled and almost cut.

_Have the lambs stopped screaming, Clarice?_

Mapp pulled up to the stop sign, gritting her teeth.

"Call it woman's intuition, Vale. I'll see you in thirty." Then she hung up, before the line went dead.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4 – Fog_

_._

The sky is a pale blue, fractured with rays of the early morning sun. As its golden light spills across the horizon, it is as if a veil is lifted from the landscape. Soft woodland and its shadows stand out with greater sharpness against the rolling hills and pastures. The foliage rustles in a slight breeze as the pre-dawn fog crawls back into its shadows. The morning early, barely past sunrise and as the fog retreats, it leaves behind dew. All of nature seems dusted with it.

At the centre of this picturesque scene stands a private airport, with two aluminium hangers and a single runway. The small complex is located just inside the West Virginian state border. A small chartered flight sits on the lower end of the runway, aluminium body glinting in the low sun. It has just arrived from Ontario, carrying only six people – the important and the rich. Two of the passengers stepping off that plane have been travelling for twelve hours straight, through two connections and three countries. They flew London to Amsterdam. There, with a quick change of identities, they travelled on to Ontario, and made the connection to the small West Virginian airport. Stepping off the plane, the woman at least, feels greatly relieved to finally reach their destination.

Clarice Starling stood for a moment, her breath held as she gazed around her. Her shoes were touching the soil of her homeland for the first time in nearly three years. Her companion, disembarking from the plane just behind her, shot her a meaningful glance as he passed. She returned his look, unable to hide her excitement at their surroundings from her eyes. Though he received her silent message, his expression remained cautious in the presence of company. His vigilance was their first and strongest line of defence.

Starling was accosted by a stewardess, who cheerily guided her inside to the small but luxurious terminal building to the lounge where their baggage was being held. As they walked, the young woman tried to make polite conversation with the ex-FBI agent, who had turned to stare once more at the countryside around her.

"So where are you two from, then? Y'all holidaying?"

Starling gave a muffled reply to the negative, but did not elaborate further. The American flag, flying over the front door to the airport, caught her eye and she walked slower to look up at it, forgetting about the stewardess. The symbol of her beliefs of early days. The longing that burned inside for months had mounted to a fevered joy. She was back in her homeland, back in her country, with her soil beneath her feet. Her heart was quivering. It occurred to her that she was perhaps a little too overjoyed, but she honest to God couldn't help it.

Her companion stepped in to rescue the stewardess from conversational embarrassment.

"No, no, just returning after a very long time away." The doctor threw her a charming smile, which the stewardess gladly reciprocated, happy to be back on familiar, polite ground.

"You both natives, then?" she quipped lightly.

"Hmmm" the doctor hummed, politely, neither volunteering any information nor refusing to.

The stewardess guided them to the baggage claim and checked them out. As she watched the odd couple drive away in a rented black saloon, she realised that they had not spoken one word to each other, all the way through customs and the baggage claim. Their documents showed that they were not married, but they were most decidedly together from the way they walked, stood and brushed against each other without noticing. Relationship stresses, perhaps, she guessed, and waved them off, returning to guide another set of passengers off another plane. Any memory of the silent couple quickly faded from her mind, and they were forgotten.

The two in question drove north from the West Virginian line, crossing away from its sister state, towards New York. They skirted places which remained too close for comfort, though both felt the pull as they passed signs for Baltimore. More than a few secreted glances were exchanged as they passed by the last turn-off. After that, they followed the back roads at a leisurely pace. Starling, who had looked so overjoyed to be back, now wore an expression of deep concern across her face. The doctor glanced over at her as he drove. As they passed through a small town on their journey, traffic caused them to have to drive alongside a police car for two blocks. They pulled up to a traffic light and the doctor tipped his head to the officer, who smiled and nodded in return. Thankfully they parted on the next street, and Starling was able to heave a sigh of relief. Her companion smiled, but his amusement at the matter did nothing to ease her. The worry lines did not fade from her usually smooth forehead.

"We shouldn't have come back so soon, this was a stupid idea." she said eventually

As she spoke, Starling glanced towards her companion. His face did not change in response to her concern. He was as neutral, calm and composed as always. He flicked on the lights as they headed out of town, passing into a shaded stretch of road. Groves of trees lined the tarmac as it snaked off into the distance, heading vaguely north. The land here was heavy with early morning fog. Starling took another breath and made another attempt.

"The Bureau has checks set up. They could be on to the account we left open." A safety net and backup identity, kept safe from previous lives for emergencies in the future. The account was a necessary precaution but also a source of worry.

More silence greeted her words. Damn him, Starling swore under her breath. There was no such thing as a real conversation with this man. Not about something that was practical, anyway, only Dante and philosophy and food. His eyes moved off the road just long enough to take in a nearby sign and flicker over the sat nav system, which he somehow knew how to work. Starling had no idea how. It was ironic, really. He had spent the years when such technologies were invented locked up in solitary and she was the one who couldn't work the thing. The Doctor's eyes lingered on the fuel meter, as if searching for a hidden message and then moved back up to the road, obviously finding everything to his satisfaction. Men and cars, Starling shrugged to herself, irked by his lack of conversational cooperation.

She sighed.

He yawned.

Starling's eyes narrowed, as the pink tip of his tongue tightened and the edge of one pointed white canine tooth protruded from the edge of a lip. He had a crooked yawn. Normally, she found it alarmingly alluring, but today it was irritating. She bit her response back, however. He knew it was irritating. He knew he was irritating and he was irritating her on purpose.

Sure enough, after five minutes had passed, and the pleasure of teasing her had worn thin, he finally spoke.

"I know a place in Baltimore where you can buy breakfast until one in the afternoon. That might interest you, Clarice, because I know it will take that long for you to be satisfied we are not being followed."

She tried to ignore him as well as he had ignored her, but failed dismally. He had noticed her checking for a tail, then. She had done her best to be subtle, but there were few ways to disguise her movements in such proximity to him. Starling wondered if his nonchalance was built on years on the run or simply confidence in his instincts. Whichever it was, she never found out. Lecter continued to chat about breakfast, as if the prospect of an FBI tail was the last thing on his mind... which it probably was.

"...continental, or cooked, down by the market." He continued as he slowed and pulled down a side road. He checked his mirrors as they parked neatly in a lay-by.

As her companion turned to face her, Starling concentrated on blinking stoically. A twitch of amusement passed over his face, followed by a small, slightly crooked grin. His mouth curled up further on the right, causing the fine network of lines around his right eye to be slightly deeper than the left.

"Baltimore or New York, Clarice?"

"I didn't ask to leave London right away. You know I didn't mean it like that." She stated bluntly. It was pointless to try and talk to him like any other person. "You do realise that we could have compromised everything by rushing into this."

"You didn't have to come, Clarice." He reminded her gently, but it did nothing to soothe her rising fears.

"It wasn't really a choice though, was it?" she answered, keeping her tone chilled and controlled. _You handed me tickets to the one place you knew I wanted to be, what did you think I would do?_ Starling added, keeping those thoughts to herself. It was barefaced manipulation, though she should not have expected anything less. "What if we left something behind?" Arms folded in defiant calm, she turned back to her window's view, averting her face from his gaze.

The doctor looked back out at the road also, practically sulking. His attempt to rile her had not been as successful as he had hoped.

"I left nothing of importance in that house." he stated, in a slightly clipped tone for a man of reportedly endless patience.

"Bank routing?"

"All wired through the Caymans. Third party" he added, as she opened her mouth to pick holes in his work.

Starling toyed with the edge of her lip between her teeth. They were reusing an old account. Not their latest account, admittedly. Indeed, it was twice removed from their current identities, and they had both made sure that no one stood the slightest chance of connecting them through any financial means. Nevertheless, it made Starling nervous.

"The German banker is handling it, I believe." One of his contacts, those infinite, shadowy contacts who had kept him in this game longer than Starling could have stayed afloat.

"Like the Romanian handled it?" she shot back, glad to have ammunition at last.

The last time they had trusted a third-party router, there had been a slip up; a tiny connection made where it shouldn't have been. It was almost indiscernible, but for the fact they both knew it was there. Sleepless nights had followed for Starling. Life on the run was far more stressful than she had anticipated. Only because they moved around a lot, according to her companion; he was probably getting steadily more annoyed with her inability to stay in one place.

"The Romanian was a mistake - we agreed on that, Clarice – a mistake you shared in making, I hasten to add, as you are so intent on pursuing the matter."

She had chosen the vendor, after stringent vetting, so technically he was right.

"I have dealt with everything." He repeated, in a calmer, quieter voice.

"That's what I'm worried about." Clarice shoved herself back into the curves of the leather seat, folding her arms over her chest and glaring out the car window. She knew she was behaving like a petulant child, but she felt helpless.

The doctor sat silently, then sighed.

"We flew in like the fog, Clarice. Like the fog on little cat feet." He added some literary quote which Starling did not recognise – a common device he used to distance himself. He drifted off somewhat after that, pondering something beyond their conversation. Whatever he was cribbing, no doubt. Starling, a bit peeved that she was not in on whatever the joke was, held quiet, allowing a minute or two for his convoluted mind to wander back to the matter at hand.

She took the time to try and match his appearance to that of the photograph displayed on the FBI's rather dull website. Three years had not made much difference. Though he appeared different than the original prison photograph, he looked certainly no older than he had the second time they met. His cheeks were different, higher, thanks to a prick of botox. It was enough to fool a cctv camera, but not a person. His nose was the same, as were his lips. His eyes were currently hidden behind blue contacts, but those were the same too. He licked the apex of his upper lip; a nervous habit he did not know she had realised, or perhaps a subconscious action. That pointed tongue had not changed either, Starling thought, as she watched.

She turned her attentions back to the window. The sky was lighting over the woodland, chasing the fog further away into retreat amongst the dense trees. They could head back down the back roads a few miles and turn off to Baltimore, back towards her home country, or they could head further northwest. They had two choices. He had given her the rental leaflets on the plane on the journey over, to browse through. Something stirred in her, drawing her towards the west. An unresolved past with the big skies of Montana. Obligations to the lambs, perhaps. She smiled to herself, despite the worry churning in her stomach. She reached into the glove compartment and popped another travel sickness pill. They had been on the move for far too long. Starling sighed.

She was back in her homeland. Soon she would be back at the heart of the country she loved, running under big skies again. For now, she would put her trust in Hannibal Lecter, who had saved her as many times as to merit that trust. She sat back in the seat and swallowed the subject she had been about to raise – an old recycled argument and the reason for the currently chilly climate between the two. An argument for another day, she decided, folding it back into its box inside her mind. She placed it on the shelves of her memories, where it would remain, secret and safe, until she had need to call on it again.

Starling unfolded her arms, removing that barrier of hostility, though she knew he could read more of her body language than that. He knew every nuance of her. And, more annoyingly, he knew that she knew that he did.

"Northwest."

He quirked an eyebrow, she sighed. No? She pointed.

"Northwest, New York, drive that way"

He tilted his head slightly. God, it was like bartering. Starling reminded herself to add another line to her CV; 'does not work with children, animals or cannibals', though she thought it would rather more amuse him than dissuade him in any way.

"...Please?" she tried.

"Okay then."

Right choice, Clarice. The doctor looked pleased. New York. He could find plenty to do in New York. The house he had chosen was only an hour or two from the City. New York City seemed the perfect place to lose oneself amongst a nameless crowd. Anonymity in numbers and suchlike, she expected. Plus, there was enough culture for him to choke himself on it. Starling rolled her eyes at his tiny smug smirk, which he obviously thought she did not see, but made sure she was facing the other way first.

By the time she turned back, he had started the car, and they drove off as silently as they had come, leaving the woodland deep in fog behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5 – Paper trails_

_._

FBI counterfeit division had been relocated since Starling and Mapp had been Agents in training at Quantico. It was now situated on the outskirts of DC, across from a telecom company that Mapp suspected was a cover for something less innocent, and slotted in between what must have been the two safest banks in all of the USA.

Mapp entered through the main doors, rushing through security, who knew her well enough by now just to give her the cursory once-over as she passed. She was carrying nothing but her car keys and a manila folder. Mapp hurried inside to the foyer and looked around for Agent Vale for a whole minute before remembering that she did not know him from Adam. She had no idea who she was looking for. Cursing being ill-prepared, she dug in her pocket for her cell, preparing to call the company switchboard to put her through to his number. However, her moves were premature.

"Agent Mapp?"

Mapp whirled around to find a young man standing beside her. Although she had not known him, Vale had recognised her immediately. The Agent standing opposite her was tall and lean, wearing fatigues and an old academy t-shirt. His brown hair and eyes looked faintly familiar, but it was his voice which reassured her of his identity.

"Agent Vale?"

He held out his hand.

"Yup."

The two agents shook hands firmly. She stood only slightly shorter than he, but he had the advantage of masculine bulk on his side. Mapp made sure that her grip asserted the rank difference between them.

"This way."

He moved off quickly and Mapp was glad not to have to hurry him. She was feeling anxious to get somewhere private and discuss the matter further. They reached the meeting room, where the team Mapp had been working with had assembled. Agent Hodgins stood at the head of the table, their illustrious leader, as always. Mapp and Vale fell silent as they entered. They had been discussing the case all the way up to the sixth floor room.

"Mapp, Vale" Hodgins greeted the man and woman with equal indifference as they entered, and motioned for them to take two of the remaining seats. Behind them, another agent stumbled sleepily in through the door, then another. The agent who had entered after them appeared to be fresh from his bed, clothes and expression slightly askew.

"To business then, gentlemen" he glanced over at Mapp, currently the only woman in the room "and ladies" he added.

Mapp gave a curt smile. Pig.

"We have a lot to cover."

"With all due respect, sir, I was wondering if we could discuss the connection with London, England?" Hodgins nodded and took his seat, folding small square hands over his wide chest.

"Right. A transaction originating from London to a Swiss bank account in the name of Clarissa Matteo. An alias? Do you think Lecter made a mistake, or could this just be an elaborate ploy to throw us off the trail?"

Mapp sighed. She knew that she had no proof, either way. Nothing but a gut feeling. Lambs. It was a personal joke, something he had used on a whim. If he had wanted to throw them off the track then he would have chosen something more obvious, like the purchase of a property somewhere other than his destination, or flight tickets to the wrong side of the world – something that would lead them on a wild goose chase.

"I believe it was a mistake, Agent Hodgins. Or, not really a mistake, but something he didn't realise we would make a connection between."

Hodgins still looked relatively unimpressed.

"You said Lecter didn't make mistakes, Mapp. You used those words, precisely." He had folded his expression as tightly as his arms, forehead taunt and lined.

Hodgins was no Jack Crawford, and he lorded over them a bit too much for Mapp's liking, but he was still a good agent. Careful, diligent and a decent man, he had patiently endured Mapp's vendetta so far, and seemed open to hearing her out now.

"I was wrong" Mapp sighed "Everyone makes mistakes." Her words had dual meaning. She couldn't have scripted better ones. The table appeared to be shifting in her favour, previously guarded expressions opening up and considering this development. "Starling found him last time, she said the only reason he was caught in the first place was because of his whimsical nature. He acted on impulse, and acting on impulse opens up a host of possibilities to go wrong. It opens up the field he is playing on to outside variables that he can neither anticipate nor control." Mapp stood up, pacing behind her seat. Everyone was watching her raptly now. "Think of it like working a field mission. Remember your training? Deviate from the protocol and you are opening yourself up to chance. Lecter is playing a long game with us and up until now he was winning, because he was sticking to the rules of his game. But he's just opened up the field."

Granted a metaphor to which they could easily relate, the agents around the table began to nod and murmur amongst themselves. Vale looked slightly sceptical, which puzzled Mapp, because it had been him who brought her the new information, and called this meeting in the first place.

"Agent Vale?" she opened a hand, offering for him to take the floor, and give a few words on the matter. Perhaps he just wanted credit for what had been his first breakthrough. He remained seated, however, as he replied.

"I've had our counterfeit guy on this since earlier this morning, when I called Agent Mapp." He glanced towards her, then back to Hodgins. "He's traced the account in Clarissa Matteo's name, and it's not been linked to any other account since it was opened. There were two smaller deposits, but they were cash, delivered in person to their London branch. So, I don't think Lecter's using it in his current identity. It could just be savings, or backup." Mapp looked to Hodgins, but he was staring intensely at Vale and didn't notice. "There was one transaction, however, to another Swiss account, two months ago. He paused, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table.

"Surely this gives us something" Mapp started, but Vale opened his mouth to speak and she cut herself short.

"The fee was paid to a Romanian alias, a man who does not exist." Vale sat back in his chair, exhaling heavily. "He's a shadow, a man who exists only on paper. He moves money between a series of accounts, mixing up the paper trails and making it very difficult to trace. The account owner's name is on a watch list. But as I said before, we have no idea who the man behind the mask actually is."

"So, in essence, we have nothing." Hodgins grunted, tone neutral but his eyes beginning to show signs of impatience towards Vale's story.

"It's still a lead, sir." Mapp blurted out, not wanting the table to turn cold towards her plight. "We can see if the Romanian links with any other bank transactions in England."

"No, Lecter wouldn't use local banks." An older agent interjected.

"Swiss-international?" suggested Hodgins. "The company he used for the Clarissa Matteo account?" the older agent nodded. He had been on the Lecter case the first time around, and was one of the only agents who had been working the case, in-between other assignments, ever since Starling's disappearance.

"So, run the Romanian through the company's databases, check all his contacts."

"You're looking into thousands, here." Vale warned, rubbing his forehead agitatedly. "Plus, that's not as easy as it sounds; there are European privacy laws..."

Hodgins shook his head.

"Vale is right, this is impossible without full cooperation from the Swiss Banking Authorities."

"Why the hell aren't they cooperating?" Mapp snipped, angrily. She couldn't see how anyone wouldn't want Lecter captured.

"They'd probably lose half their clientele if they let the FBI loose on their customer database." Vale pointed out, mildly. "Maybe if we get more information, narrow the search to more criteria, they'll be more willing, run a few searches for us. We don't need direct access after all, they have the equipment."

"What criteria?" Hodgins asked.

Now Mapp was listening. It had sounded, for a minute back there, as if the search was about to be called off. Gods knows they had hit enough dead ends for ten investigations during the course of their search for Starling. After three years, Mapp didn't know if she could face giving up.

"He used the lambs reference before, we could cross-reference that?" someone suggested.

"No, that was an impulsive thing," Vale interjected.

Mapp nodded in agreement.

"We could cross reference the accounts receiving funds from the Romanian with those making outgoing payments to places we have on his list." The young agent suggested.

Mapp nodded. Lecter's list was a compilation of things Starling and Mapp had collected over their consecutive years on the case. Things he liked, places he ate and shopped, things he bought. If any of the bank accounts, or cards linked with these accounts, were used to purchase anything on the list, they would be flagged. It was as good an idea as any, Mapp thought, the perfect place to start.

Hodgins seemed to agree.

"Right. Vale, you head up any other leads from the Matteo Bank account. I'll run this Romanian thing with your guy at counterfeit. Mapp, good work. You stick with Vale on this one, Denver and Cornwell have more experience with the counterfeit boys" he motioned to the two older agents sitting on his right and left "we'll handle that show from here."

The collection of agents rose and made their way off to various offices and buildings. Mapp faltered near the doorway, waiting for Vale. The young agent took a long time to collect his folders and sort his notes. His back was turned firmly towards her.

"Hey, Vale." She dropped the 'agent' title, softening her tone from the way they had talked earlier, as colleagues.

The younger man's body language clearly showed his disappointment that he had not been allowed to follow up on his lead. It had been his lead, after all. If it was not for him, then the Clarissa Matteo account wouldn't have been found, the connection with the Romanian not been made, and they would not have a list of bank accounts to work with. Hodgins could at least have put him on the team to liaise with counterfeit.

"How's about I buy you breakfast, since you about saved this investigation's ass?"

He turned to her with a slightly shy smile. His disappointment was still evident in his eyes, but he hid it from his voice as he replied.

"Sure, that sounds great. I'm starving."

They made their way to the diner down the street, where Mapp had eaten many a greasy meal. It was a usual haunt for Agents, who worked all hours; returning from a mission at eleven at night, working until the early hours of the morning. Starling and Mapp had come here all the time when Mapp had done her placement at the counterfeit and fraud office. Starling, who would have just worked all night in the her behavioural science office (or rather, basement), would swing by and meet her for an early breakfast before Mapp started work and Starling ran home for a shower, then back to her dungeon office. It stung a bit, remembering those times.

Vale and Mapp ate breakfast together. Mapp, eggs and toast, Vale, the full deal with bacon and sausage. They talked about the case. They got onto the subject of Mapp's history with the bureau, and joked about the hypocrisy of Hodgins and the other management employees. It turned out that Vale had worked on a case with her a few months back. Mapp, with a pang of guilt, admitted she hadn't recognised him.

As Vale was driving off after breakfast, he gave her a wave. There was no more disappointment in his eyes when he gave a parting suggestion about the lead. Mapp couldn't help wondering if it was Hodgins approval that Vale was even after. Maybe career advancement wasn't the reason he had worked so hard on this case. After all, it was her he had come to, not Hodgins, when he had discovered the bank account. She dismissed her arrogant idea with a smile. He was young and handsome; twenty-five, with his whole life ahead of him. Why would he be interested in a thirty-four year old agent, her time at the FBI threatening to flatline?

Mapp shook her head, got into her car, and drove back towards headquarters. She stopped by McDonalds on the way in, to grab a cup of coffee. She was going to need it. Today was going to be a long day.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6 – A Lamb for Starling_

_._

The subject of the argument which had been festering between Starling and her travelling companion was the sort of subject that most couples approached with happiness.

Starling had never given the thought of children much thought. She had not been the type to coo over babies in the shopping centres, or to 'ooo' and 'aww' at baby clothes as she passed them in department stores. Ardelia Mapp had used to joke that she lacked that maternal gene – and maybe it was a good thing, seeing as Starling was married to her work anyway. It was not that she was heartless, she thought babies were as cute as most women. But the four-in-the-morning waking, two-hourly feedings, dirty diapers and stretch marks were not high on her list of favourite things.

So when a woman like Starling wakes at six in the morning for her daily jog and has to run to the toilet to throw up instead, it raises alarming and life-changing questions in her head. Panic was foremost amongst her thoughts, followed shortly by exacting a painful revenge on the other perpetrator of the situation.

And about him. She had deliberated for three days over what, how and whether or not to tell him. After all, she still had no idea what she wanted to do about her situation, without his opinions clouding the matter. She didn't even know how she got into the situation in the first place - apart from the obvious biological basics. One missed pill at an inconvenient time of month, one whimsical clinch in a hotel room in Paris. Thinking back, she wondered how she could have been so stupid, so blasé. One little pill, she had thought, what harm could missing one little pill do? After all, she finished the rest of the packet. The doctor would have known, but he was fool enough to trust her to be a semi-competent adult. She had no idea how he would react when she told him. Apart from a few cautionary comments about birth control, they had never discussed the possibility of her becoming pregnant. So, she had no idea how to tell him.

In the end, she didn't have to. In that annoying, piercingly perceptive way of his, he picked up on the fact that she was hiding something, and poked and prodded until he got an answer. The truth came out. He wasn't angry at her for becoming pregnant, as far as she could tell, but he seemed furious that she had decided to take the decision not to tell him so argument that followed had been the only time Starling had ever seen Lecter lose his cool. She shouted, he swore, she stomped her foot and blocked his every attempt to reason, and the whole event culminated in Starling taking a slice out of his cheek with her fingernails.

In her defence, it hadn't been fair. He had twisted the argument into a corner which she did not have the vocabulary, or experience, to escape from. Trapped and scared of the situation that she had found herself in, and with no idea what to do next, she had lashed out in the only way she knew how. He had drawn back, the look of surprise on his face almost masking the anger at her earlier words. He did not strike her back. She realised now that she had never feared he would, even when they were in the heat of their fight. He would never have laid a hand on her.

Afterwards, she had disappeared off to the moorlands for almost a week. It was cruel, she supposed, but her anger justified her actions. And surely such a man as Hannibal Lecter was perfectly capable of sulking on his own. He was, it turned out. When she returned - late at night, after witnessing a bus crash up in the moors - the house was dark and empty.

He was gone for a week, three days after nature told her, in the way it did every month, that she would not need to buy a crib or decorate a nursery any time soon. The pregnancy test Starling had taken when she first suspected her condition had been positive, so she had naturally assumed a miscarriage. She didn't know quite how to react to the news. Was she sad, relieved, or both? How could you feel bad about losing something you never really had?

Starling walked the walk of shame to the local clinic, just to be cautious. The ultrasound photograph of her womb was grainy, devoid of anything the nurse could pick out as life. The nurse told her that she probably had been pregnant, and the foetus had aborted. It would have been small, the nurse said, something they would have barely been able to see even on the ultrasound. It wouldn't have even looked like a baby, she assured the dumbstruck Starling. Starling was told that she would spot-bleed for a few days, then her cycle should return to normal. The nurse arranged for a return appointment, to check up, for a week later.

Starling had never been so perplexed. How was she supposed to feel, disappointed, grieving? No, that would be stupid. She had been the one who had suggested getting rid of it in the first pace.

'_Adults take responsibility for their actions.'_

'_Your actions.'_

'_My actions? And you are, I suppose, proposing that my actions had nothing to do with your actions. I do not think so, Clarice. Isn't this what you have always wanted, Clarice Starling, protector of the lambs? Lambs to mother, an assurance that you are not as much of a failure as you feel inside._

She had hit him after that.

Now Starling sat on the front porch of their new residence. It was a beautiful old house, built back in the settlement days. Colonial windows behind her gave a glimpse into a spaciously proportioned living room. She wiggled her toes, feeling the well worn wooden planks beneath her feet as she shifted position. They creaked slightly. She liked a house that moved and sounded, a house that felt alive.

The house was set well into the East coast woodlands. Beautiful deciduous trees, leafy in their summer colouring, dotted the grounds and congregated near the back of the grounds, where they gathered into a forest, stretching out into the distance, between arable fields. The world around the house was all of green. Pastures interrupted the woodland and the distant roads. Patches of long grasses waved in the wind. Farmland lay beyond the pastures, belonging to farmers who rented from the government. Starling wasn't sure, but she believed that she and her companion were renting their accommodation from a local property tycoon. The house was old and they had been told they had free rein to do what they will with the interior – a fact Starling was glad of when she spotted how much they were renting it for.

They had only been here for a week but she had already fallen in love with the place. The house was still pretty much empty and not her own yet, but the grounds were stunning. Walk out from the small woods and the sky seemed to open out on front of you. The storms would be beautiful from this spot on the porch, she thought, and her window above it on the second floor. There she could watch the thunder rolling in across the plains.

Lecter's Jag, bought two days previous, was not parked in the driveway. He must be out, she thought to herself, breaking it in. His taste was, as ever, impeccable. The car was beautiful and sleek, and seemed to slink rather than drive, rather like its driver. Starling had not bought a car yet, though she knew she should, if just to give herself some independence. She was not sure if a Mustang would spur gentle taunts from her companion.

'_People never change, Clarice, they only become more adept at lying to themselves about what they are'._

And what are you, Doctor, do you never lie? Thinking about it, Starling could not remember a time when he actually had. He had always spoken straightforwardly to her, no matter how distressing his words turned out to be. She folded her arms across her belly. She had not purposefully lied to him. Rather, it was evasion, not deception. She had not known what to do. What should she have done?

The sound of a car's low purring engine disturbed the birdsong quiet of the grounds. Starling looked out across the pastures that separated the forest trail driveway from the lawn around the house and spotted a silver Jaguar winding slowly towards her. It disappeared momentarily into a dip in the road. Starling watched it as it drew nearer, then slipped behind the house towards the garage which was situated in the rear grounds of the house. She heard it stop, and the sound of feet, first on the concrete slabs of the garage, then on the gravel path leading up to the house. He had put something in the garage, and then taken the shortcut across the grass, then over the gravel path, up to the patio doors at the rear of the house. She probably knew his habits better than he did. First the screen door, then the main door – then the slam, creak and snap of the both against the oak doorframe.

From outside on the porch, Starling listened to his progress through the house. He halted briefly somewhere near the room she had chosen for herself. It was a large room, not the largest, but on the top floor of the manor. It overlooked the grounds as they rolled down towards open pastures, filled with prairie grasses. A small patch of woodland marked the place where the pastures gave way to trees, patched with arable fields, beyond. Wide flat prairie fields on the left, leafy trees on the right, endless sky above them. The flat roof of the porch hung beneath her window, like a platform. She could climb out and sit on it, to watch the stars.

Inside the house, Lecter paused then moved off again, heading to his own wing of the house. Starling hadn't examined that part of the house. She was too proud to return to him just yet, even though she knew he would never apologise for the things he had said during that argument. He only said what he thought was true. He had never lied to her.

Starling walked outside on the front lawn for a few minutes, then returned to her inner sanctuary; climbing up the stairs to her room above the porch. As she opened the door, Starling stepped on a note placed at the doorjamb, so it would flap free when she entered. It was his looped handwriting.

_'Bed'._

She walked across to her white-painted iron frame bed with its pale blue sheets – cornflower blue, the colour of the sky outside the window. On top of the sheets was a large box with another note on the top. The box had holes through the sides, which Starling poked her fingers through to pull the lid off. Her eyes fixed on the note on top as she did so.

_'A lamb for Starling'._

She pulled free the top. Inside there was a single ribbon and yet another note. Starling smiled then recovered herself, trying to drum up annoyance. She was supposed to still be mad at him. Why the games, doctor? She read the note.

_'Garage'._

She walked out to the garage, listening carefully for Lecter in the house as she passed through it. No sign. He would be lurking upstairs somewhere, watching to see the effect of his newest game.

Inside the garage, 'Starling's lamb' became instantly apparent. As she entered the back door, opening it cautiously, and stepped inside, she was immediately accosted by a small calf-high bundle of golden fluff. Starling groaned and knelt down to the floor, putting her hands out to stroke the infant dog. It licked her, mouthing her fingers and paddling at her with over-large front paws. Happy to have companionship after being left alone in the dark garage, the puppy made a few appreciative whimpers.

"Oh, God" she groaned to herself, running her fingers through the pup's soft downy fur. The pup gave an excited yelp and wriggled more enthusiastically than ever at the sound of her voice. Starling looked about the garage and spotted the box, where the puppy had obviously been left.

The box was lined with a fleeced blanket and taped to the wall above it was yet another note.

'_Clarice,_

_If you will not talk to me face to face then I will write to you instead. What you said the other night, in London, you said because you were scared. As for me, I spoke the truth, and the truth was something that you were not ready to hear. I am not sorry for what I said, but it saddens me to hurt you and I am endlessly sorry for doing so. Think of this as a letter of truce, if you will._

_Maybe you can write one too. Perhaps we can even speak soon, instead of leaving photo prints of empty ultrasounds in the other's doorway while they sleep._

_H._

_PS – His name is Virgil and he is a gift,__not__a replacement.'_

Starling folded the note delicately into her pocket. He didn't know it but she had kept all of them, even the ones from before, and in the asylum. They were secreted, like sick love letters, in a shoe box behind the headboard of her bed. She looked down at the pup, who was sniffing at her trainers with a look of intense curiosity in his furrowed, fluffy brow.

She moved her foot and the pup froze, one small paw lifted. Then he bolted for the box, huddling down in the fleece blanket, with just his face poking out. Starling sighed.

Okay. Hannibal wins this round.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7 - Apology accepted_

_._

The west wing of the house is the cannibal's lair. They chose the house because it is, for most intents and purposes, two houses on the inside. Two sets of living space, two studies, and enough bedrooms for them to pick and choose. Here, they can hide alone or together.

His rooms resided on the western side of the manor. They were the grand rooms which, at one time, would have belonged to the master of the house. He also commanded the top floor and the main staircase. Apart from the day they moved in, when the house was still empty of furniture and no territories were yet claimed, the doctor had not seen Clarice Starling use the main staircase. There was a back stairway from the servant's kitchen up to the corridor where Starling had taken up residence. She used that one. The doctor believed she liked having her own exit strategy. FBI till the last, was his Starling. It had shaped her, formed a piece of her. He treasured all of Starling, all those pieces. He kept them safe inside a box, safe in the deepest, most protected rooms of his memory palace.

Dr Lecter's favourite room was the grand master bedroom. It was the only one he had taken much pains in decorating to his taste, and the only one which held a presence of him inside. One entire wall was given over to tall bookshelves, behind glass at some points, full of interesting things. An old grate stood unused on the same wall. He hadn't investigated the chimney yet; it was on a list of things he had to remember to do. A solidly built bed took up almost half of the room. A large desk and chair sat in the other corner, furthest away from the door. It was at the desk that the doctor was seated, poring over one of his many subscriptions; a piece from a cookery magazine. Dr Lecter made a note in the margin of the page, and then lifted his head.

He heard a noise outside the door of his room and set his pen down gently on top of a photograph of the roast he had been annotating. The noise outside the door had been footsteps. The doctor frowned a little in surprise. Starling had rarely come to him, always left it up to him to make the first move. It was symbolic to her, of the power she held over him. He had to come to her for physical attentions, or find some other solution. But if she enjoyed the power that sex gave her, she never made a display of it. The doctor suspected it was more of a protective mechanism. His Clarice did not care to fail in anything she set out to get. Apart from her career at the FBI, she had never really had. She had been so close to finding acceptance there. Capturing him would have been her life's work. What she did not realise was that she had captured him. She had no idea how tightly.

The door creaked slightly and pushed open. He always left it ajar, unless he required privacy. The doctor didn't like being confined inside four walls and a closed door when he did not have to be.

The door swung open and for a moment nothing stirred. Lecter watched intently. Then a small golden shape made hesitant progress up to the door and slowly padded through. It paused to sniff the door frame, tiny nose wrinkling up into velvety folds in his forehead.

Lecter glanced up at the empty doorway above him. Starling would be loitering outside somewhere near. Virgil the mediation puppy could not possibly have made his way down the hall by himself. Nor would he have had the initiative to prod open the door with his nose, even if it was ajar. Virgil - whose name the doctor had picked the name because it was everything a dog's name would not be in Starling's mind - had been bought for the sole purpose of providing a third dynamic to the house. One-on-one was the way Starling and Lecter worked best. But, as with any relationship, breaks from each other's company were also needed. Hence, Virgil, the infant golden retriever puppy, served as a mediator device, something both parties could identify as common and impartial ground.

The puppy spotted him and froze, head lolled slightly to one side, tongue tip protruding. Sensing the human's indifferent body language, the pup stood still, cautious. One opened palm, however, was enough to send him skittering over the hardboard floor to the desk. Front paws up, tail wagging – the perfect image of a young creature. Immaturity evokes protective instincts in adult creatures. Virgil was chosen well.

Starling had tied the ribbon from the box around the puppy's neck, a piece of paper impaled upon it. The doctor reached down, placating the young arrival with one hand while he untied the ribbon with the other. As he took his hand away, the pup cried, so he left it there, toying with the golden fleecy ears while he moved the note into his lamplight.

_'Virgil is a stupid name for a dog'._

A smile tugged, uncalled for, at the corner of his mouth. He scanned the rest of the note and flicked it over to check the back.

_'He can be called Gil, and he is a messenger, not being returned.'_

Clarice Starling's handwriting was slightly wayward, though he could tell she had spent time trying to perfect it, finishing perfectly in the centre of the note. Dr Lecter folded the paper back to its original shape and glanced to the doorway, out into the hall, where Starling probably still stood in darkness.

The pup mouthed his fingers, sharp teeth nipping the skin between his first finger and thumb. A firm flick on the nose was deftly given. The pup stopped biting but continued to clamour for the monster's attention. He picked it up, carefully, for a man capable of so much violence. The focus of the monster's attention, however, was taken up rather more by the scent of Clarice Starling that clung to the infant dog's fleecy fur. His ears, almost as perceptive as his nose, picked out her quiet footsteps down the corridor, down the stairs, then the soft of a door closing in the hallway below.

His mouth twitched again.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8 – Crosshairs_

_._

Mapp stood outside the fraud and counterfeit division headquarters with her briefcase under one arm. It was empty, except for a manila folder on Lecter, which she could really have carried on its own but for want of appearing professional. She was waiting for Vale, who had disappeared inside the building almost fifteen minutes ago. Mapp twisted, hot and annoyed inside her suit jacket. She should be on her way to London right now, not battling with FBI red tape.

The search on the Romanian had yielded very little information. Another alias of a man they still knew almost nothing about. He hotwired bank accounts, transferring money through accounts to any place in the world. What he did – or rather, what they could prove he did – ran the borders of legality, so the FBI had devoted very little time previously to finding the Romanian's true identity. His file had been slipped to the bottom of a stack, somewhere deep in the Fraud and Counterfeit division.

Mapp and Vale, who had been kept rather unceremoniously out of the loop on what was happening with the rest of Hodgins' team, had spent the last few days chasing up other accounts related to those the Romanian had worked on. Similar names, anagrams, secret codes, Mapp had run their info through every code-breaking program known to man and yielded nothing. So, yesterday at three o' clock in the morning, when she woke to the 'ping' of the computer, no doubt telling her the search had failed again, Mapp had been as close as she had ever been to giving up.

She had crawled over, rubbing her sleep encrusted eyes, and blinked blearily at the green-tinged computer screen. It wasn't the search. It was an incoming email, routed through the FBI server. The IP address spoke Europe to Mapp, but she couldn't be sure. In her dreamy haze, only two words spoke any meaning to her;

'Alessandro Russo'

Mapp froze, opening her eyes wider and halting her breath for a moment. Just to check, to make sure. God be damned if she was seeing things now! Then she leapt off her knees, bolt upright and wide awake in the seat on front of the screen. An address followed the name, neat black letters reaffirming and amplifying every emotion in her body. She cried out in triumph and stood up, punching the air.

"Yes!"

The sudden noise and movement had caused Vale to leap up from the pile of old FBI uniforms he had been sprawled over, napping. He still held the Lecter files in one hand, but his pen had slipped loose from the other.

Mapp whirled around to face him.

"Russo, Vale we've got Russo, Dr Alessandro Russo!"

"What?"

Vale staggered upright. His short hair was nearly vertical and he had a smudge of ink on his cheek from where he had been lying on the end of his pen. His eyes drifted over the ecstatic, sleep-deprived Mapp and onto the computer screen, slowly beginning to light up as his brain made the connection between her words and those printed on the monitor.

"Counterfeit got him?" he moved closer, grasping the keyboard and punching in to learn the details. "But how? We cross-referenced all the bank accounts and-"

"-Not an account" Mapp leant over him, taking the mouse to scroll to the bottom of the report. "This isn't from counterfeit. It's from some spooks in London. We placed Russo's name and details on a watch list when we first discovered his alias and we've just got a hit!" Trust another security service to succeed where theirs had failed. If this led to Lecter's capture any chance of her and Vale claiming any credit had already gone down the sinkhole.

Mapp sat. Vale pulled up another swivel chair beside her, leaning in towards the screen for a closer look.

"London cops reported a break in, in this house." Mapp stabbed at the Belsize park address at the bottom of the screen. "Upon investigation, it turned out that the house was unoccupied. Neighbours said the owners left a week to two weeks ago, and didn't come back. The landlord said that the rent was prepaid in advance."

"Cash?"

"In cash," Mapp nodded "until next July." Vale whistled between teeth.

"Camden London, rent for ten months upfront, in cash. What is he, a cannibal or a bank robber? I thought this guy was on the run!" he shook his head "Didn't the FBI freeze his assets, how much can he have hidden away?" Mapp shrugged in response to Vale's question, eyes riveted to the fluorescent screen as she scrolled down, checking the details again and again to reassure herself that she wasn't imagining this new development.

"Probably more than we'll earn in twenty years." She answered darkly. "Hey, Vale, check this out."

Vale leant in, frowning.

"The hit came from the reference for the apartment." Vale read slowly. "He's using a previous identity to substantiate his new one. This wouldn't have ever come to light on any of our checks – not unless we went over there and interviewed his goddamn landlord." Vale shook his head. "We can only scan financial data. Lecter, you're a damn good son of a bitch."

"But we're better." Mapp quipped, grinning. She clicked on the attachment file and up sprung a cover document, several forms and a bank account application, complete with two scanned photo driving licences. Clarice Starling stared back up from one, looking healthy and not a day different than she had in the English newspaper. They hadn't been in London for long then, thought Mapp, her excitement building as she raced through the possibilities for Starling's safe return.

Vale's hand closed over hers, shifting it to take the mouse. She relinquished as he began to speak.

"This wouldn't even have surfaced for ten more months if the house hadn't been robbed and its details entered into the London coppers' database. It's a stroke of blind luck!"

Mapp had started smiling; maybe luck was finally on her side. First, the newspapers, right newspaper, right day, opened to the right page with Starling's photograph. Now, the burglary of Lecter's previous safe house. Vale was searching through the details, checking bank statements.

"Starling's alias 'signed over' control of her savings account to a Mr Mark Jackson, who is..." Vale pulled a sarcastic face "an heir to a wine company, by his great Uncle in Malaysia."

"I wonder if great Uncle has been in contact with his nephew lately." Mapp rather doubted that the real wine heir, Mark Jackson, would ever see anybody again. Lecter would have seen to that.

If Vale was discomforted by this thought, he hid it well.

"Rotting away somewhere, missing flesh, I can only guess."

Mapp had pulled a face and shoved the unpleasant picture that Vale had conjured from her mind. There were more important things to worry about than one missing wine heir. Lecter was moving back into their sightlines. She could almost see him in the crosshairs and her finger was aching to be curled around that trigger once he was.

That was yesterday. Now, standing outside fraud and counterfeit, Mapp felt that there were much more important things to be doing than worrying about paperwork. Inside, Vale was wrestling with his boss to be allowed expenses for a high-priority trip to London. Mapp, hot in her suit, by the door, wished he would hurry up. Five or even three days ago, she wouldn't have cared whether Vale stayed or went. But as they had been working together the last few days, she had learned just how much closing with this case meant to him. Mapp was quite adamant that both Vale and she would accompany Agent Hodgins and the team in London, to search Lecter's safe house. They had damn well earned being on the front lines.

Vale appeared in the doorway to the counterfeit building, waving an envelope, which hopefully included travellers' cheques or a company credit card. She signalled him to join her and the two Agents hurried into Mapp's car. Pulling out into DC's heavy afternoon traffic and turning East towards the airport, Mapp smiled. Excitement was growing inside her. They were so close now. The crosshairs were closing in.

Lecter's game was almost up.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9 – Poetry_

_._

The storms came that night.

Clarice Starling woke in her bed at around seven or eight in the evening. The darkness of the sky threw her at first. She had to glance over at her alarm clock to check that she had not slept late into the night. It had meant to be a nap. Feeling tired after an afternoon in the nearby town, she had returned, unpacked the car, showered and gone straight to her room to sleep. Half an hour was all she had planned for. That was three hours ago.

Starling sat upright, pushing back sticky strands of hair from her face. The windows were drawn open, like she had left them, but gone was the light afternoon breeze. The air drifting in was hot and heavy with expectation, humidity clinging to her tongue as she took a long breath in. The sky was filled to every limit of Starling's vision with great columns of cloud, fat bellies nearly grazing the treetops as their great heads rose up high into the atmosphere. An eerie green light played over the scene. The air was electric.

She shivered, but not from cold. The air was as warm as ever but it felt expectant and heavy. Outside, the sky was deep purple. She must have been fast asleep not to hear the distant rumblings of thunder. Starling looked around herself for her shoes and frowned. They weren't where she had left them, kicked to one side on the floor by the doorway. Instead she spotted them propped neatly against the old straight-backed chair in the corner, next to the open window.

He liked to watch her sleep, he had told her years ago, that first night she gave herself to him. Starling shivered again. The night was electric around her. Gil, the pup, was safe downstairs in his playpen with food, water and enough newspaper to paper the coliseum. He was safe to be left on his own for a while. Besides, she had a visit to return.

It was only polite.

...

The door of the monster's lair lay ajar, as per usual. And, as per usual, it stayed in that manner, no one going in or out. The window of the room was thrown wide, giving the room's occupant a panoramic view of the prairie and the oncoming storm.

It rolled in, gathering speed on ferocity as it approached the house. The owner of the room, occupied at the desk with a book in his hand, was not currently watching the storm. The words he read from his book could stir up his own storm. It lashed against the windows of the memory palace of his mind. There, great waves crashed and broke, while above the sky split with thunder.

A noise nearer to home broke the dreamer from his reverie. He looked up to the window; eyes caught at first by the clouds, then by a hand appeared around the edge of his window, clutching the wood there for balance. It was followed by a more than familiar foot. The doctor blinked, only just able to contain the pleasure of seeing Clarice Starling unfold from the corners of his window-frame. She stepped in carefully from the flat porch roof that connected their windows on opposite ends of the house. She was barefoot, wearing the simple clothes she had been wearing earlier that afternoon. Same classic taste, new credit card. He would have voiced some opinion to that effect, but the sight of her, storm brewing behind her and in her eyes, found him unexpectedly lost for words.

She walked up to his side and took his hand in hers. It was something she rarely did, not wanting to be mistaken for needy or weak, two of the things she most despised. Her smaller hand was warm against his. He could feel the pulse of her wrist as it pressed against his forearm, thunder in her blood. Her warm skin smelt of soap and the scent of her warmed him too. She led him to the window and they climbed out, sitting delicately on the flat tiles there, where the view of the prairie was unspoilt by wooden frames. As she watched her poetry, he watched his.

He watched her.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10 – Rapture in the storm_

_._

He was still watching her.

She could feel his gaze on her, as electric and dangerous as the clouds that now lay above them. The winds were growing stronger, ruffling the trees from their unnaturally quiet calm. Branches bent and twirled, sent flying into contortions by the sheer power behind each gust. The endless depths of the sky stretched before and around them and, as Clarice Starling looked up, she felt like she was falling into them.

"What is it, deep roller?"

His voice cut through the electric air like a knife, penetrating deep inside her. She turned to look at him. His dark features were ten times more dramatic in the half-light. Maroon eyes danced over her face, watching. Reading every nuance of her. She didn't even try to shut it out, she knew him and he knew her too well.

"Will it be safe here, for a while?"

She did want to stay, she had known that for days. Starling held her legs to her chest, and settled her chin on her knees, tilting her face to watch him. The doctor looked pleased. His eyes glinted with delight as they swept over her again. He would be congratulating himself, no doubt, on his choice in real estate. The house was beautiful, Starling admitted that, but it was the grounds that she really loved. The woodland and prairie, big skies and endless horizons; the land of her childhood.

He nodded in response to her question.

"We're safe."

Starling nodded and settled back down to watch the clouds. Two words and she believed him. Surprising, how she felt most protected, most safe, when she was beside such a creature as Hannibal Lecter.

His hand found hers and held it. Gently, he turning it over and back within his larger palm. Her eyes watched the storm, her mind solely occupied with the way his finger ran the narrow grooves between her hand bones. Up towards the apex of her wrist, and then back down again. Starling did not have to see Lecter to know his expression. It would be one of rapt concentration and unadulterated interest. When he turned his mind to a subject, he did it wholeheartedly. Starling did, she really, really did like to be that subject.

His fingers slid to occupy the spaces between hers. She is delighted to find that they fit well together, still. The discomfort between them, after London, was vanishing on the gathering winds. Starling heaved a sigh of relief. No five weeks in her life had felt as long as these last ones had. From her initial realisation of her condition, to their argument, to the loss of her unborn child; Starling had felt alone. For the first time in three years, there had been no lover's touch to crawl back to. It had taken her a long time to realise that she did not want to be alone again. Ever.

She slid her hand free of his and up his back, to just under his scapula. The movement gave her cause to move closer, bridging the remaining gap between them. Leaning against him, Starling's fingertips traced circles on his back through the fabric of his light shirt. They sat like that for a while. Attentions focussed on the storm brewing over the fields on front of them, Starling startled slightly when he spoke.

"You cannot know how sorry I am that you are sad, Clarice."

His voice reverberated in his chest, causing vibrations through the side of her cheek as she leant against him. Turning her face from the storm, she buried it in his shoulder and inhaled. He smelt of shea butter. From the wet towels she had noticed hanging in his room, Starling surmised he had just showered. She breathed his scent as his arm slid around her, mirroring her embrace. Fingertips teased up the back of her neck, stroking down the strands of hair that escaped her pony tail.

"I never meant to act like that, ya know. I know that it wasn't your fault."

"I know that, Clarice. Your reaction was perfectly natural." He tilted his head so he could look down into her eyes.

Starling felt her eyebrows slide together in physical manifestation of her guilt.

"I was a bitch."

"I know that, too." He smiled slightly, "I was living with you."

Starling groaned.

"God, was I really bad?" He did not reply, or meet her gaze, but the smile extended slightly as he pulled her closer.

Forgiveness tasted sweet. Starling drank it in and they both sat in silence, until the rains came.

The storm arrived with a downpour, thundering in over the grounds before spattering against the wood of the house. Thousands of water droplets, each making a single drumbeat, together formed a symphony of sound. He took her hand this time and they fled to his room. Pulling themselves up and over the windowsill, they dropped to the wooden-board floor, rolled on their backs and stayed there. Starling's heart paced faster, exhilarated by the suddenness of their movement. Outside, she could hear the rain growing faster, harder, lashing against the side of the house. She opened her eyes and looked over at her companion. He was lying back on the floor, eyes still tightly shut. One heavy breath told her that he was taking in the scents and sounds around him. She mirrored his actions.

Close eyes. Breathe in. Starling could smell sweet, heavy air. She could hear rain falling hard on the roof and walls of the old house, like quick footsteps. Lightning flashed, visible even from behind her closed eyelids, and she held her breath. Beats of time passed, then a clap of thunder rumbled across the fields. She could feel the hardness of the wooden floorboards against the curvatures of her spine and shoulder blades. The house was old. The floorboards had been in the house probably longer than Starling had lived. Running her fingers over their well worn surfaces, she breathed in again. Varnish, mixed with rain, mixed with Him. Opening her eyes, Starling was not surprised to find him watching back with an air of utter calm.

"Are you sure we're safe here?" she whispered.

Lecter blinked stoically once. Then he lifted himself into a seated position, shifting sideways to lean over her. His fingertips ran the shallow groove between the muscles of her abdomen, tracing languid lines all the way down to below her naval. Brushing the smooth the soft cotton of her shirt aside, his palm settled, fingers spread against her belly like a star. They locked eyes.

"I meant what I said before, Clarice. There is nothing of importance left in that house."

Starling was pretty sure he was not only talking about money or paper trails.

She sat up. Lecter leant closer. A beat or two passed, but the stillness did not last for long. She grew tired of the game and he was more than willing to join in her new one. Sliding her cotton shirt up and off to reveal cream and blushed pink skin, he trailed his nails across her chest, following the patterns of her ribs. One of his thumbs traced the hardened bud of her nipple and she exhaled loudly. Drawing back, he placed a chaste kiss against the corner of her lips. Starling responded with a more demanding, if slightly fumbling embrace.

Sometimes moments as these need no finesse.

She graced his cheek with a kiss, and then moved back from him. As she stood and undressed, their eyes never parted. Starling was naked and Lecter clothed, but it changed little in the power balance. She was always naked under his gaze. He could see straight through her, so the boundary of clothes meant little. But he was not looking through her now.

"You are beautiful." he whispered.

He stood also, moving to take her body with his hands.

"Touch me" it passed her lips almost silently. A whispered request, from one lover to another. And he eagerly complied. He loved to touch her. It was a novelty that had never worn off. Skin on skin, they were electric.

Lightning flashed, thunder clapped and the lovers danced an age-old dance. Bodies touching, lips meeting, shadows entwining in the half-light.

Sex is nothing new to this pair. They explore each other thoroughly and willingly and often. They move carefully, and she is patient. He does not much like exposing his own vulnerabilities, and it is preciously difficult to hide them when they were so close. Despite his caution, he is a good lover to her. They fit well together, and work even better. Quid pro quo, they talk sometimes. Mostly her. She talks, he listens.

Neither of them felt much like talking much tonight. It was a rarity sprung out of impulse. Mutual need and opportunity collided in a storm of pheromones and adrenaline. He could smell the want on her. She could read it in his eyes. Up against the edge of his desk, the back of her thighs were pressed into the hard edge. Starling's knees rested against his hips as he ran one hand along the inside of her leg. She groaned. He slid his fingertips against her blood engorged skin. Slide. Dip. Fingers flat either side of her clitoris, so light that he was barely there. Back - forwards - away - he traced circles from the crown of her pubic bone to the outermost folds of her labia.

With a smile indicating less than honourable intent, he skimmed his thumb south and pressed, centimetres, millimetres away from being inside of her. _Oh, she was dying_. Starling closed her knees against his hips, thigh muscles straining, fighting her every urge to pull him closer. That would deny him access, stop him from doing – _God_ – whatever he was doing now.

"I missed this." She managed to whisper into the night air, her voice harsh with desire.

"I missed you."

"You never lost me." She whispered in his direction. Smile. Three fingertips lightly stroked her in quick succession, making her gasp and yelp out loud. "Oh Christ, shit, damn hell Hannibal!" He gave a low hum of pleasure at her reaction. "Okay, I promise – I _promise_ you'll never lose me!"

They met eyes and Lecter chuckled, clearly delighted by the response he had elicited.

Starling suddenly realised she has not been this happy for nearly a month. She lost something in London. And she had been so preoccupied that she hadn't even realised he had been slipping from her grasp as well. One more week of anger and maybe he would have left her, for good. Starling knew that if he left, she would never find him again. She slipped her hands to his shoulders, pulling her body back up to him and nudging into the angle of his neck. Her movement halted their foreplay, but he graciously shifted to accommodate her change of heart.

He allowed her to hide her face in his neck for a minute or so, then pulled back, supplying his hand as a surrogate.

"What is wrong, Clarice?"

"Nothing."

"Clarice..." she tried to avoid his gaze, it was impossible.

"It's not important." Starling smiled, turning her face to kiss the hand that cupped her cheek, but he drew the hand back. "It's not!" She frowned, a hint of frustration spiking within. Lecter held her gaze, completely unfazed by her irritation. He wasn't a man to just drop something, was he?

"Then you would not be scared to say it."

Starling's frown deepened.

"I'm not scared." She pulled on her favourite front, eyes calm and steady and full of confidence. Leaning closer to his face, she stopped at a few centimetres distance and smiled. The top of her lip brushed his. "I don't scare easy." His mouth opened, tips of white, white teeth slipping into view. Starling wondered vaguely if it was wrong that it turned her on.

"Hmm" he leant in and ran his tongue along the pulsing vessels of her neck. "I can see that." His hand traced the path his mouth made.

Front momentarily forgotten, Starling whimpered. His other hand rubbed slow circles along her outer thigh.

"I just wanted to say" she stopped, distracted by the faltering patterns he made across her skin. "I just wanted to _ask_ if this – I mean, you and me..."

His hand stopped, fingers gripping her skin lightly, tantalisingly close to where she really wanted him.

"You and I, what, Clarice?"

"I know we made this decision together, we both chose to be here, but I – I need to know we are... good, after what happened. The things I said..."

His eyes floated over her face, rising to her eyes then to her forehead, as if he could seek the answers directly from inside her if he concentrated hard enough. Starling could not quite place his expression. Lecter sighed and leant back, removing his hands from Starling's body altogether.

"What happened was a terrible thing, a thing you did not deserve." He spoke slowly, with complete sincerity "I promise you, if there was anything I could have done to make it all go away, I would have done it, Clarice. But you needed time and space. You needed to grieve. All I could do was to be there for when you ran out of tears... and priceless Roman vases to throw." Starling grimaced. The vase had been an impulsive action.

"I was selfish."

"To heal you needed to be." He reached forwards and brushed one thumb along her cheekbone. "My beautiful Clarice, you lost a child."

"It was your child too. You didn't flame up in a blaze of immaturity and selfish anger!"

"Hmm" He hummed again, occupying himself in movements involving his fingers and her lower back. "You do not know where I went the week following that argument."

Starling did not ask where the doctor had gone that week, though some part of her wanted to. Instead, they met eyes and she fell into him all over again. He did not move forwards to touch her again until she initiated contact. But an outstretched palm was all it took for him to scoop her up and pull her toward him.

"Cry, grieve and let go, little Starling. Fly free."

Thank you lover, but I've cried enough, she thinks, and takes his lips instead.

Pushing, brushing, fingers tracing well worn patterns over each other, they dance a dance learned patiently and carefully. His fingertips make slow circles, dipping in, dipping out of her. She whimpers and twists away, but comes back to his touch every time. Eventually, he picks her up. He still can, but only just; she is tall enough for her frame to carry weight. He is shirtless, her fingernails grip his skin so hard they leave red half-moon shaped marks. The tension of the past month, stirred to a frenzy of desire by his earlier movements, is burning in her belly. Her muscles tighten in anticipation.

Off the desk, they stagger to the bed. She scrapes her arm, breaking the skin on the rough iron-cast lamp beside it, but does not notice. They fumble like teenagers, learning each other all over again. Electricity in the air, electric touch on skin, she leads and he follows. It is her game, her dance. She slides his trousers down, brushing against him as she kneels back up. Her naked abdomen, pressing against the fine network of nerve endings in the glans, causes Lecter to murmur something in a language Starling does not understand. All the muscles of his upper body tense simultaneously.

"Uh..."

She pulls him closer one hand on his left hip. Her other hand slides between them and she curls her fingers around the almost fully erect shaft of his penis. Thumb on top, fingers spread along, pinkie finger hovering to just where it needs to be. Slide. Lightly, pressure on the thumb slightly harder than the fingers. Over, back, curl around. She gets another half-swallowed noise for her trouble and smiles, remembering her delight when she first discovered he could whine like that. It hadn't been the noise she expected him to make. After a few composed seconds, he lets a shaky breath out.

"... H–ah." Starling smiles.

"Really?"

"Veliau rojus" he replies, with a wink.

"I'm sure."

Starling slides her hands back up to either side of him, rubbing his skin there instead. She looks up when one thumb rubs along her cheek. He is watching her with a different expression now, eyes decidedly softened.

"Aš myliu tave." I have no idea what you mean, Starling thinks. Sliding back into a seated position she kisses the skin just below his navel.

She will never understand him. His mind works in ways far beyond her, perhaps beyond anyone's comprehension. Starling and Lecter come from two different worlds. If she was white, he would be black. Hot and cold, good and bad; they shouldn't work, but they do. Maybe it is true that opposites attract. She's pretty sure he would have a better explanation for their compatibility, but her thoughts sort of slip away with his next touch. Starling sighs. She does not want to think right now, just feel. Slide. Touch.

She arches and weaves before him. His hands flit over her skin, her name rolling from his lips like a prayer. She whispers his back. It takes a few seconds of manipulation, they're not perfect, and then he is inside her. They have grown confident enough with each other to know their limits. He guides himself into her, but holds back for her to close the distance between them. She murmurs a little, in mild discomfort. It is a stifled noise, quite indiscernible, and quickly lost in the thunder that growls overhead. Time is enough to coax her closer and soon pleasure vastly overrides any discomfort. Starling allows herself to be picked up, straddling his lap with her back to the headboard. A tilt of her pelvis, and she feels him push deeper. Her legs and body feel strong and he feels strong under her. Together, they feel invincible. They fuck, animal desire overcoming any cautions they might still harboured for each other. The tensions of the past few weeks burn as passion in their only barely opened eyes.

The line between love and darker emotions is thin – Lecter and Starling dance it beautifully.

Outside, the storm is building. Rain thrashes the windows frames and Starling can hear the slate roof trill as water pelts it. A thousand drumbeats cascade from the sky, each raindrop adding to the harmony. Inside, charge building, climax approaching, she chances a look down at him. Her back is pressed into the headboard. Lecter kneels beneath her, between and inside her. Her fingers form knots across the back of his neck. One index and a thumb pressed into the ridge where his skull meets his neck, feeling the muscle there working as he moves. Gently, gently.

Deep and slow, circular movements. She balances him, guiding both of them around. Her muscles ache but her desire aches more and she will be satisfied. The hunger grows with the second. The line between love and darker emotions is thin, but Lecter and Starling never mistake love and hate. They move faster and faster, their breathing shallower. Starling whispers something – God knows what, perhaps a prayer of thanks to a God she has long abandoned – and grips him tighter. It is a wonderful bond that physical intimacy can give. Right now, he is the only thing in her universe that matters.

Thunder follows lightning. The storm is here. One last arch of her back and she is gone.

_Lightning. Thunder._

Starling falling. He rises up to meet her.

_Rapture in the midst of the storm._

She gives a broken moan and bites down gently, to silence herself, on the back of his neck. The bite does not seem to hurt him. In fact, he gives a low moan of pleasure as closes her teeth on his skin. Her fingertips are pressed against the side of his head, her belly flat against his. Shoulder blades slam into the sweat-damped headboard, her lower back curved in spasm. They hold, bodies straining for a moment. Then she settles into a quick rocking, bouncing her body smoothly off of his. He thrusts hard, up into her, giving tiny aftershocks of pleasure. Her breaths slow and steady as his become shallower. As she rocks, he groans softly. It should be too soft to hear, but for the fact he does so into the hollow of her collarbone.

Watching him climax was an experience Starling could never tire of. Those eyes that usually held such controlled calm, blazed with passion. Wild abandon, the tiniest hint of what his soul must look like. Beautiful and terrible, all in one. Exquisite chaos. All that he knows, all his wisdom, seems infinite. In that moment, she can see forever in his eyes.

They shudder together. Just for a minute or two. Then one more kiss, barely a touch, and they fall apart.

Starling's lover sits before her. She leans back against the sweat-dampened headboard, panting, muscles fluttering in echoes of ecstasy. Her hands are still laced, cradling the back of his neck. A slight tremor shakes them. Below her, he pants too, but does not tremble. The sheets that cover his bed slip against his knees as he sinks down from where he supported her against the headboard. Sides rise and fall, shadows between their ribs dancing in the low light. He sinks further down, and places his forehead against her chest. Her muscles dance as she feels his tongue flicker against her skin. It is even hotter than his hands, which grip the sides of her thighs. Her thighs are damp with both them.

He lifts his face, kissing her at the dip between her breasts, and then straightens up. With a sigh, she lowers from herself down between her lover and the wall. She kneels, he sits, equal enough in height to look each other straight in the eye. A moment of complete understanding passes between the pair. They feel blessed not to have to speak.

Rain batters the house and roof, a fine spray on the open windowsill. Thunder smashes behind them. Outside, the storm begins to roll away across the prairie, painting the sky in electric hues. The air it leaves behind is fast clearing of cloud. Though the faintest tinges of sunset still cling to the far western horizon, the rest has turned deep purple and rolling blues. The day has left with the storm, and soon the stars will be visible. For now, all is quiet. Upstairs, the two choose to lie beside each other and rest. Downstairs, Starling's lamb sleeps. Silent.

Starling's companion watches her until she falls asleep, and then a bit longer. He lies beside her body, feeling her shift to curve into the hollow his body makes. She is close and he feels glad for it. He waits until she is deep in silent dreams, before turning his attentions to the cut from the bedpost. He licks it clean, tongue feeling around the jagged edge and torn skin. Her blood, which he had always imagined to taste sweet, is slightly bitter on his palate. So, he desists, content to lie beside her instead.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11 – Arrivals_

_._

When Mapp stepped off the plane at Heathrow airport, the first thing she noticed was the sky. It was hard to avoid it, hanging barely two feet above the ground and glowering with threats of rain. Great furrows and troughs of cloud carried off into the distance, like some god-farmer's fields. Beyond the immediate surroundings of the airport, the dull grey of England was faintly discernible through a thick misty drizzle. Welcome to London, thought Mapp.

"Ardelia?"

She turned, somewhat surprised by her companion's use of her first name.

"Agent Vale." She greeted him, dimly aware of his disappointment at her use of his second name and title.

He gave her a smile, nevertheless, and held aloft hotel booking slips.

An uncomfortable moment passed between them. It was the sort of moment people often exchange, realising they had shared more than they ought, or had meant to. Stimulated by more than a few glasses of airline liquor, they had chatted like old friends half way through the seven hour flight from DC. Ardelia had told him about her and Starling's friendship, letting slip a few secret sadnesses that exposed her at her most vulnerable point. She had told him about comfortable Charlie, her on-and-off boyfriend, and their on-and-off-more-off-really relationship.

Vale, in turn, had regaled the tale of how he had joined the bureau last spring. Hot from a four-year stint as a commando sniper overseas, Vale had been eager and full of youthful optimism. He said he almost wished he was back in those cross-hairs sometimes, rather than take part in the bureaucracy that the FBI was nowadays. At least he knew what he was fighting for, out there in the field. Mapp secretly agreed.

"When my father worked in Division, it was different." Vale had told her. "I guess it was what they call 'the good 'ole days', huh? Doing what needed to be done, not just what the man with the biggest wallet wanted done. Things were kind of truer back then." He had mused.

Mapp had been surprised by the revelation of Vale's background. She had always imagined him as a middle-class boy from a two-parent, two kid, white picket fence background. He had just laughed when she told him, and said that they did have a picket fence, at least. But it was light blue, and there was no father in the picture anymore.

"He died when I was thirteen, leaving my mom to look after me, my kid brother and my younger sister, by herself."

He went on to tell her that when he was sixteen he had enlisted, like his dad had before him – the job that led to his father being shot through the back of the head by an enemy sniper.

"He got a medal of honour, you know." Vale had told her. "Not that it helped much."

The pair had become fairly philosophical by this point. Fifty dollars worth of alcohol had seen to that. Neither Mapp nor Vale had ever been given a company credit card to spend with, before. In fact, this was Mapp's first overseas mission, and Vale's first with the FBI. The young agent continued with his story. Mapp, lounging in her seat beside him, watched her new partner's expressions shift and wondered if he looked at all like his hero father.

"I just wanted to do him proud, you know. All sons do – daughters too, I guess." Vale shrugged "Plus, the Marines was the life I grew up hearing about. It's what I know." Vale's eyes changed, with those words, into the eyes of someone infinitely older than he. "The stories, that is. I never knew what real death or bloodshed was until I stepped onto that desert sand." Coldness in his voice, he added; "I was nineteen."

Mapp had shared more than a few of her own war stories. Raids gone wrong, lives and friends lost to the cause. The pair toasted their memories silently, throwing back another whiskey to dull out the steady drone of the plane around them. Mapp talked about her family, about growing up in a low-income background and how it wasn't as bad as people made it out to be.

"People worked hard for everything they got, and they damned well appreciated what they had. I didn't have much but that wasn't a bad thing. They look for people with nothing to lose, for this job. Cause if you've got nothing to lose, then you can't sue them for losing everything."

"We're dispensable" Vale added, bitterly. Both of them stared out the windows of the plane, hundreds of feet down into the darkness that was the ocean below them.

"Collateral damage" Mapp whispered, thinking of Starling and how quickly the Agency – that she would have died for – had abandoned her.

Mapp was only glad that the intercom had bleeped when it had, announcing their arrival in three hours in London. It saved her from moving on to more personal conversation.

They slept for a bit after that. Mapp woke to a slight headache and a festering feeling of embarrassment as she met eyes with the man who had been sleeping (leaning rather close) right next to her. She wasn't big on the whole cuddly, touchy, feely, open-talking stuff. She never had been. Even with Starling. They had never talked about stuff, not beyond the level of girlie chat. So having a deep philosophical talk with Vale had been slightly off-putting. After working so hard for so many years to promote her equal-to-masculine identity, Mapp couldn't help but feel almost betrayed she had let her guard down so openly. But instead of turning that anger on herself, she turned on Vale.

"What took you so long? Its goddamned soaking out here!" she snapped as he approached her with the hotel booking tickets. He pulled the hood down from his head as he stepped out of the rain and under the taxi rank where Mapp was sheltering.

"Sorry, agent."

He apologised curtly, perhaps wanting to look as detached and strictly professional as Mapp seemed.

There was more than a glimmer of offense in his eyes at her manner, but he didn't say anything out loud. Mapp was glad. She didn't need to deal with his hurt feelings right now. She didn't need to deal with her feelings about his hurt feelings either – or her feelings at all, in fact. She had too much else on her plate.

Starling came first.

They got into the nearest taxi and drove to the hotel without speaking much. They were met there by an official liaison representative from MI5, who informed them that the search of Lecter's discovered London safehouse could be started within the hour, whenever they were ready. The British officers carrying out the search were highly trained, Mapp was told, and she was not to worry. The MI5 man called her ma'am, which she found amusing.

She went to her hotel room and shut the door behind her. She found a pleasant enough suite, with a double bed, mini bar, en-suite shower room. The place was tiny, but that was to be expected in such a large city, and on her government budget. Bet Lecter stayed at the Ritz, Mapp snipped bitterly inside her mind. She made a mental note to check his alias's credit card bills, just out of curiosity, then yawned and flopped back onto fresh sheets. Through the thin walls, she could hear Vale unpacking next door. She turned over on her belly, kicking off flat flight shoes and stretching her already-aching toes prior to shoving them into even less forgiving heels. She wanted to make at least a bit of effort for the British officers. She was representing her country, after all.

A quick flash of a mascara brush, some foundation and a brush of the hair; Mapp pulled out a scrunchie and tied a rough ponytail. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror, then pulled a face, then sighed. She looked tired, jetlagged, overworked, underdressed and more than a bit hung over. Not great, overall. But it would have to do.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12 – Mistake_

_._

"Ow!" Clarice Starling pulled her hand rapidly back, a single drop of blood pricking to the surface at the small puncture wound on her thumb. She squeezed the digit and it made a raised bubble - a perfect orb of scarlet fluid. Starling wiped it on her jeans. "You bit me!"

She gave the puppy a smart rap across the muzzle, careful not to hurt it. Too careful, perhaps, because the infant dog just gave a wide-lipped yelp of joy and lunged to nip her fingers again. Hot little footpads pressed into Starling's thigh. She stood up, about to make her way over to fill up the food dish.

"Hey" the retriever pawed at her trouser leg "Don't jump, don't bite, don't-!" The pup yipped louder this time. "Shh," Starling glanced overhead, to what formed the floor of the doctor's bedroom.

He was still asleep – or at least he had pretended to be so when she left. She was quite sure that he faked it sometimes, to be left alone. Starling softly smiled. She did get up rather early in the morning.

Starling knelt to the puppy's level again and swiftly, avoiding sharp milk teeth, plunged her fingers into its downy fluff. Pleased by such attention, the small dog gave a groan-whine and relented the attack on her fingers. She scooped the pup up and lifted it out of the pen where it spent the nights and carried him out to the garden through large French patio doors. Shutting them softly, so as not to wake the monster from his lair, Starling padded outside and lowered the pup down to the grass.

"There, Gil" The pup looked exceedingly non-plussed by the wetness of the grass and simply stood there for a moment, lifting one foot then the other, while looking imploringly up at her. "See, this is what happens when you give a dog a fancy name." Starling commented lightly, feeling the wetness of the grass on her feet and wriggling her toes with pleasure at the sensation. "Virgil, indeed. You get sorts of airs and graces, don't you?"

The dog's ears flicked at her words and he stared for a moment, before catching a scent on the breeze. Forgetting all about wet paws, the pup bounded off to investigate.

Starling made her way over to one of the deck chairs she had bought last week, and sat down on its damp wooden planks. It was morning, her limbs felt long and her muscles relaxed after a night of careful testing. Their sharing of a bed had returned to a nightly occurrence during the last week. Starling was glad. She had missed him dreadfully, during that time they had spent apart. Stretching her legs out Starling wriggled each of her dew-wetted toes individually, spreading them out as far from one another as they would go. They shimmered with wetness in the early morning sunlight. She felt good. Strong and supple, with the warmth of the sun making her skin feel like it was aglow. In fact, screw good she felt fantastic. Sex, she had decided, was definitely a good idea.

Starling leant back in the deck chair and tilted her head back, turning her attention to the back fronting of her new home.

The house was slowly filling up with things, becoming their own once again. Her room was far from finished, but she had given the rough oaken floorboards another good layer of varnish, and it all looked much more proper now. Starling picked at a scab on her upper arm, noting that it had been there for days and wondering vaguely how it got there in the first place. Gil the puppy's yap broke through her thoughts and she looked up to find him in a hopeless race with a small, low-flying bird. The bird looped lazily over the infant dog's head, as if mildly interested, then soared almost vertically upwards and flitted off into the trees that lined the property's gardens on the eastern side. Starling folded her arms over her stomach and drew her knees to her chest, resting her feet on the wooden slats of the deck chair. The gardens were beautiful in the morning. She would take a run later in the day, however. She had been told it was easier on the joints not to run in early morning or late evening, when your body fluid levels are at their highest and lowest.

Starling yawned and turned her attention back to Gil, who had his head in an ominously small hole between some roots. She needed to drive into the nearby NYC suburbs today and do some shopping. The kitchen was almost devoid of food. They had spent the last two days doing very little other than exploring the house, the grounds, and some more 'familiar' territories. Starling smiled to herself, watching Gil get stuck, panic, then re-evaluate the situation and slowly extract himself. She would find a vet, also, when she went into town. Yeah, she yawned again, at this rate he would definitely need one. Starling stretched and stood. She glanced back up at the long windows of the master bedroom. They were half-drawn, the way she had left them. She could go into town now and exercise later, Lecter's car was free and the keys were stowed in the kitchen unit just inside.

She got to her feet, clapping her hands, to call the puppy.

"Come on, Gil,"

The small animal raced towards her with an expression of great excitement, like nothing else in the world could quite compare to how much he wanted to be right there, running to her.

He lived purely from one moment to the next. Starling envied that, sometimes. But flawed as it might have been, her humanity was hers. And the memories she had been making of late, were ones she would not care to lose – even for a simpler existence. She supposed that was what being human was all about. The good the bad and the ugly, all rolled into one package and handed to you at birth with a wish and a wink. But, as her daddy had always told her; if life was a test and you weren't meant to make mistakes, we would all have been born with an instruction manual. Starling had made plenty mistakes in her life - and she would make plenty more, if time allowed her that grace - but mistakes only proved she was human. And human was something she was starting to like.

Reaching down, Starling scooped her furry charge up into her arms and carried him to his cage, then carried his cage to the car. Taking the jag's keys from the kitchen counter, she quietly locked up the house behind her. It wasn't technically 'their' car, really, it was his. Her heart rate had risen substantially and she did not quite dare a glance back at the house windows as she drove away. Berating herself softly for being childish, she turned on the radio as the jag pulled out onto the quiet back road that led to their driveway. It was nice to be driving on the right side of the road again, after driving in London.

She flipped the station from classical to rock and gave a tiny smirk to herself at what his reaction would be, when he took the car out next and the radio came on automatically. Thinking that maybe a progressive rock station was a bit too far, and knowing that she would forget to switch it back later, Starling flicked the channel back to the classical channel. Moments later she was laughing again as she caught sight of a golden furred head bobbing up and down in the rear view mirror. Gil's whimpers of excitement had switched to happy howls, keeping perfectly in time with every rising arpeggio.

Endorphins releasing in her brain, or adrenaline – Starling didn't know or much care. She let herself laugh at her lamb, singing happily along in the back seat. She lost something in London, and he could not replace that. But he had done the next best thing. He had brought her home. And given her a dog with an appreciation for Chopin, for what that was worth. Starling smiled. She could be happy here.

Starling drove to the store first, then to the vet's office, (having to do some hearty apologising for Gil's lack of toiletry manners on the reception room floor). At the reception counter of the veterinary practice, paying for a new bowl and worming tablets, Starling's heart skipped a beat. She had almost made a huge mistake. Her fingers had been about to reach for the credit card she had been using in London. Thankfully, she had noticed just in time. One swipe, and that card would have connected their meticulously gathered new identities with their old ones. Starling breathed a sigh of relief. That was what she called a close shave!

"Sorry, give me a minute" she told the young woman behind the counter, digging in her purse for change. She found none. "Shit." She checked her pockets. Nothing.

The woman across the counter stared at her in a way that made Starling's cheeks flush red and a defiant streak rise within her. She had always been conscious of money. A memory re-surfaced in her head; her and her mother at a shop, after her father died. They were standing in line and her mother was digging in her purse, apologising because she only had half the money she needed for their meagre rations. The woman behind the counter had stared at them in just the same way this woman was now.

Starling flicked back through to the front section of her purse.

She could not use the London identity, not so soon after leaving. That would be flaunting far too close to the danger line. '_No direct connection'_echoed in her mind. At the last slot in her purse, Starling's fingers closed over something plastic. It was another card, forgotten from her last clear out. She pulled it free, checking the name and date. The card belonged to her when she had been Clarissa Matteo, almost two years ago, now, in Buenos Aires. A moment of indecision froze her and Starling faltered.

She knew what she should do. The anal part of her - the part that sounded a little bit like Lecter - was hissing to put the card away right there and then. Not to even think about it! But she knew that there were no connections between her current identity and this card. There couldn't be. She and the doctor had checked and triple checked all the bank details. There was no connection between London and their current location. Nothing. And there was no connection between Clarissa Matteo and London. A whole lifetime separated those identities. Go on, just do it, Starling told herself, meeting the cashier's eye defiantly as she produced the card. It will be completely safe.

She pressed in a four digit code, and then 'enter'.

Somewhere, hundreds of miles away in a stuffy FBI counterfeit office, an open search window began to flash slowly.

'_Hit'._


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13 – Hit_

_._

Mapp heard Vale swear and jerked her head around – just in time to spot her partner disappearing underneath a cascade of boxes.

"Shi-it!"

Mapp stifled a laugh, knowing it was childish, but enjoying the swell of pleasure too much to stop herself. She hadn't laughed in a long time.

Vale crawled out from under the toppled cardboard, grinning widely. That funny lopsided grin he had made him look so much more innocent than she knew his military life had caused him to be. For a moment, he was not an FBI agent, an ex-commando sniper. He was eighteen years old again, back before he had ever seen blood spilt on desert sands. And for a moment, laughing back at him, Mapp was twenty – back before she had become cynical and closed. Those lost days, those days of innocence. She wondered faintly if things could have been different if they had met back then. Then she blinked and the scene flashed past. They were standing in the London house again.

The sad smile still clung to her lips as Mapp turned and began to sift through an old chest of drawers, filled with receipts and bills. Picking up one from the electric company, she noted it charged an initial joining fee. It was dated no more than three months ago, probably when Lecter first rented the house. Mapp's fingers tingled slightly, wondering if Starling had ever touched the letter. She felt so close to finding her old friend that her heart burned in anticipation.

"Hey" Vale walked over, carrying one of the boxes that had fallen on him and setting it down to use as a chair. He flopped down and raised an eyebrow. "No luck?" He motioned towards the open drawers that Mapp had been searching through.

Careful to guard herself against a 'moment' such as before, Mapp gave a polite smile, trying not to let too much fondness shine through.

"Not really." She held up the electric bill, handing it over to the clearly bored Vale. "Jus' bills and things"

Vale gave the document a cursory once-over and then dropped it on the desk.

"We didn't really expect to find anything here, though, did we?"

They had been searching alongside the British Intelligence team for six hours now, combing the London townhouse. Very few links to Lecter had been found. Of these few things, none presented any leads to his trackers. Prints were plentiful, but provided no extra information. They already knew Lecter had been there. What they needed to know was where he had gone. Vale and Mapp were upstairs, while MI5 were downstairs in the living room, checking for forensic evidence.

Mapp's eyes passed over the room she and Vale were inside now. It was the second largest room, with a lock on the thick door and an en-suite inside. It was very plausibly the very room where Starling had been kept, if she was kept in the house at all. Mapp rather suspected that she had been. Lecter wouldn't have wanted his prize toy to stray too far from his newest playhouse. Mapp wondered what leverage he had used to get her to play fair. Pushing the thought from her mind, she resumed her half-hearted search of the cabinet drawers.

They continued to work as the sun rose higher into the sky, its rays lighting a window shaped patch which moved slowly across the pile carpet from Vale's side of the room to Mapp's. As they worked, Mapp felt the physical demands of the situation begin to purge her stress. She was beginning to feel calmer. For the first time since they had landed in London, her heart rate was returning to normal. Vale started to hum something behind her. She shot him a mock-hostile glare. He smiled widely back at her. The situation felt so easy. It was funny when people you got along with so well just happened to crop up in your life. Mapp rolled her eyes at the younger agent, and then turned away before he could see her lips twitching.

She was having altogether too much fun for two FBI agents at a crime scene. Standing in a house where Starling had lived for nearly three months, filled with things she had touched and held – this was the least Mapp had thought of her old friend since the day she had disappeared. The walls that held her in now hid the secrets that would lead Mapp back to her friend. So why was Vale's smile the only thing she could think about?

Mapp blinked, forcing her mind of what was beginning to look rather like a crush. This was wrong. She was too old for him. She knew him through work. These feelings were entirely inappropriate! I mean sure, he was good looking, funny, and had this way of making her feel young and laugh... and then there was the way he grinned…

_No!_

Mapp slammed the drawer rather too forcefully, as if trying to close the door on her thoughts.

"Ouch!" she had managed to shut her finger in as well.

Vale strode over.

"What you done, girl?" he took Mapp's hand without asking and turned it over, examining its red-bruised tip.

"Damn clipped it, didn't I?" Mapp cursed and winced as Vale turned her finger over.

"I'll bet the bureau had to take on extra insurance when they signed you up."

He had finished checking the finger but continued to hold her hand. His hands were gentle, his skin soft. Mapp felt her breath catch slightly, and recognised the warning signs. They were too close. There was too much contact. She slipped her hand free of his and broke away, leaning backwards because she knew he would be offended if she stepped away. She would lose the power of dominance if she retreated from the situation.

"You got cop's hands, Benedict Vale." She smiled, looking up.

The two agents met eyes and he grinned; then, regretting she.

"I got a man's hands, Ardelia Mapp, and don't you forget that."

Mapp laughed.

"They're as soft as a babe's bottom, Vale – you ain't done an honest days work since you left the army."

"Hey" Vale pointed at her accusingly "my shooting average is at least ten points above yours, Special Agent Mapp."

"Yeah, talk your shit."

"Talking true!"

"Huh... Shit."

They laughed.

"You moisturise." Vale looked offended.

Mapp stifled laughter.

"You swear?"

"Every damn day."

They laughed again. Mapp walked over to flop down on Starling's old bed. With a sigh, Vale came to join her, sitting a comfortable enough distance for friends - but a bit too close for colleagues. Mapp sighed as a wave of melancholy rushed through her. Their playful banter had reminded her of the good old times - the Starling times. They had been a team. And now... Mapp sighed.

"You _really_ miss her, don't you?"

Mapp turned her head and ran her gaze over Vale's face.

"Starling, that is." He was serious; no mocking, no gentle teasing in his eyes.

Mapp nodded.

"Every damn day."

A minute passed in silence.

"You met at the Academy?" Mapp didn't answer for a whole minute. The silence weighed heavily. "You know, we don't have to talk about it. I was just wondering, that's all."

Mapp blew out a heavy lungful of air and leaned back, sliding her hands to support her body more efficiently on the soft bed. The comforter felt like feather down. It probably was. After all, the sheets were milky Egyptian cotton. She had checked. Damned things had a thread count three times what she used at home. At least if Clarice was kept hostage in style.

Running her hand along the underside of the bed, Mapp encountered a silk scarf, tied there to the frame. She pulled it around, threading it through her fingers while she wondered if Starling had worn it.

Another sigh.

"We met on the first day of training." Vale looked up, surprised that she had spoken, after the long gap. "We sat by each other at lunch. It was just like at school on that first day. Like, when you don't got any friends and you're looking for someone looking as lost as you are?" Mapp smiled, remembering. "She always looked a bit lost." Mapp pulled on the silk scarf. It was tied rather tight - tight enough to resist her tugs. She slid her fingers down, un-knotting the scarf from the bed frame. "Clarice Starling never did make friends well. She didn't see the point of small talk, or social diplomacy. I guess she was better at being an agent than a normal human being."

"Unlike you."

Mapp laughed.

"Oh yeah. I'm just a social bunny, me."

Her words were meant laced with sarcasm. Over the last three years, since Starling's disappearance, Mapp had spent every waking minute – and a few sleeping ones – thinking about getting her friend back. She was obsessed, and she knew it. But she couldn't just stop. Friends' numbers got lost and emails left unread. Mapp's weekends became shorter and her days longer.

"It had to hurt, losing somebody… especially like that."

Mapp closed her eyes then opened them again.

"I've not lost her yet, Vale. I promised I would not give up on her. I made my best friend a promise."

Another beat of silence, then;

"Hey" Vale nudged Mapp's elbow, "you're doing that promise right, Ardelia."

"Bullshit. She's still out there. She's out there with that… that monster, and I can't do anything to save her." she turned to Vale and nudged him back "Thanks, though."

Mapp didn't cry. She had cried so many times, for Starling, that her eyes no longer felt the need to tear. Mapp was glad of that. She and Vale got on well, she might even call them friends, but she didn't want him to see her cry.

"We're gonna find her." Vale slapped her shoulder and stood, adjusting his trousers. Mapp noted for the first time, that he was wearing a proper suit. He looked out of place in grey pinstripes, Mapp thought. A fish out of water. She hid her smile, nodding in response to his question.

"I know."

She didn't know. Deep down, somewhere, she doubted she would ever find her friend again. Starling was almost lost. But 'almost' wasn't good enough for Mapp. Mapp needed closure. She wondered if she would rather find her best friend's remains than go on wondering like this. Not knowing whether Starling lived or died, always being one step behind them – it was the not knowing that ate away at her inside.

Mapp stood and walked back to the cabinet she had been searching, touching Vale's forearm lightly on the way past, a brush of thanks. At the same time, the FBI-issue phone inside her pocket beeped, and then vibrated. Mapp startled slightly; a sharp intake of breath and a little jump. The quiet of the room, punctuated by the occasional dusty shuffling from downstairs, had lulled her into a melancholy calm. The walls of the London townhouse were thick. If Mapp didn't pay particular attention, she could have almost cancelled out the noises of the MI5 agents in the rooms downstairs. The noise of the phone jerked her back to full consciousness. Flipping the ludicrously small handset open, Mapp motioned to Vale to continue without her and walked through to the next room.

"Special Agent Mapp." She answered shortly, sucking her fingernail. It was still throbbing slightly. Mapp turned her attentions back to her phone. The voice on the other end of the phone was instantly recognisable.

"Hey, it's Jeff here. We've got a hit on a credit card from one of your Lecter aliases."

The voice was that of Jeff Cummings, Mapp's man inside the counterfeit department. He had been running bank references for Mapp on the Lecter case. .

"Pardon?" A hit? Mapp blinked, not quite believing

"The card was from Buenos Aires. The cardholder is a Ms Clarissa Matteo, who, if I am not mistaken, lived with a Dr Alessandro Russo." Mapp could hear Jeff grinning down the phonelines. "You still don't believe this bastard makes mistakes?"

"But why would he risk using a card from a previous identity?" Mapp began, but Jeff Cummings overrode her with an explanation.

"Well, there was no connection between the identity he is using now and this one - except for that reference that you found in the house in Camden. She probably found no reason to fear using it."

"_She_?"

Mapp's brain jumped into overdrive. Rushing back through to the cramped living room, she motioned Vale to shut up and listen in. Fumbling for a moment with buttons, she turned on the speakerphone function and set the phone down on the desk to take notes.

"Hello, Jeff? You're now on with Agent Vale now. Couldn't the card have been stolen?" she ripped open a new notebook from the cabinet she had been searching. Vale offered her a pen as she reached out towards the drawer behind her. "Thanks."

The shuffling of papers over the line reaffirmed Jeff's presence.

"Yeah, that's what we all assumed. But, CCTV of the practice confirms a woman matching Starling's description made the transaction. I'm sending you the details in an email." Jeff told her. Mapp punched buttons, finally managing to pull up a screen of text. She scribbled down notes, as Vale took over the conversation.

"Where was she?"

"A veterinary practice up in New York state."

"A veterinary practice?" Vale screwed up his face, shooting Mapp a disbelieving glance.

"She had a dog with her." Cummings replied.

"Are we even sure this is Starling?" Vale butted in.

Mapp halted her rapid note taking to watch the phone.

"We got a positive ID through a former agent who used to work with her. Clint Pearsall, her boss at the field office." Mapp could dimly remember Pearsall. He somewhere in high management now, she believed, consulting in covert operations. He was a reliable witness, who knew Starling well enough to pick her face from a decent line-up.

"You got all this from a grainy CCTV camera?" Vale seemed less convinced.

"The images were cleaner than half the bank security cameras I've spent hours poring over. This place had top end equipment."

"So… they're actually in New York?" Mapp shook her head, exhilarated and completely confused all at once. "When did the card hit?" she heard typing as Jeff checked the logs.

"Card was used at 14:36 today," some more clicking "then again at 15:20, in a small convenience store west of the practice."

"What is Hodgins doing about this?" Mapp asked, wondering if the team supervisor had got off his ass and pulled his finger out yet.

"We're cloaking the area, all possible safe houses. We have it narrowed down to three good possibilities. All three were rented, deposit in cash, within the last week. We narrowed the parameters with direction Starling seemed to be travelling and that the houses were suitable lavish for the good doctor's... um, tastes." Jeff paused. Mapp cringed for him as he boldly continued on. "Three teams are moving in on all three locations. They are set to hit at 23:00 hours, East Coast time. All three houses are already being watched."

Mapp glanced at the clock. She couldn't possibly make it back in time. It was already 9.30 now - 3.30 in New York. With the time difference, she could get back two hours before the SWAT teams hit, but then there was the official paperwork and getting to the site of extraction… No, no, it was just stupid. She would never make it in time. She had to finish up here first. Mapp reasoned with herself; she could see Starling as soon as she got back. It wouldn't be more than a day.

Mapp finished collecting the information and hung up the phone. Vale sat silently beside her while she scribbled the last of Cummings' notes on the yellow paper pad. A brief touch to her shoulder re-alerted her to his presence.

"I'll go book you a flight."

Mapp shook her head.

"No, no. I can't! Hodgins sent me over as FBI liaison. I'm in charge of processing the scene. I can't leave until MI5 are done here."

Vale pulled a face.

"Come on, you've not seen her for three years. Plus," he said with a more serious expression "She's gonna need a friendly face when she gets out of this mess. It'll take you six hours to fly back over. It's half nine now. With the time difference – if you leave right away – you should be there in time to collect her after they extract." Vale gave her another one of his lopsided grins. "Go on. I'm bad and ugly enough to deal with these Brits alone until we're done here. It's just paperwork from here on in. This house doesn't matter anymore. You found her!"

The pair embraced in a tight hug of adrenaline-rush and excitement. Awkwardness quickly set in and Mapp pulled back, glad of her dark skin that hid a blush. She was pretty sure he could see it though, because he was still watching her face intensely, hand resting in a polite but distinctly intimate manner, against the side of her arm. They met eyes and she blushed a bit more, mumbling her thanks and saying she should go and pack – though she hadn't really unpacked anything. It was all still sitting in her bag in her hotel room, like the boxes of Starling's things in the spare room of the duplex. In limbo.

But not for long.

As she left, Mapp passed a young British agent who had been loitering outside the door, waiting to hand over a report. He mumbled something that sounded a lot like an apology and skittered off as Mapp exited the room, still blushing. Mapp gave the MI5 team instructions on liaising with Vale, told them her replacement from the Embassy should be arriving shortly, and left. She was driven to the airport by a taxi driver for whom the word 'speed' needed new definition (or perhaps a few extra superlatives) and arrived just in time to catch a flight to JFK, direct from London Heathrow. But even once in the air, Mapp couldn't relax. She had found Starling, but her best friend wasn't back yet. So many things could still go wrong!

The plane broke through the heavy blanket of cloud hanging over London, and rose like a gleaming silver dragon into the sky. On board, Mapp twisted an airplane sick bag absently between her fingers, her stomach taut with tension. The six hours over the Atlantic, Mapp thought of nothing but Starling. And Vale.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14 – Autumn wine_

_._

The afternoon is drawing to a close in typical East coast style. Today, no humid damp hangs in the summer's-end air. It is fresh. Still light from the storms earlier in the week. Starling has returned from the town to find food slow-cooking on the stovetop but nobody around cooking it. She puts the puppy in the playpen with a chew toy and closes the door to muffle his attention-seeking whimpers. Back through in the kitchen, she takes the lid off the pot cooking on the stove and takes a deep sniff. Gorgeous. As usual. It smells like casserole, rich and heavy in the light air. The smell stirs hunger, but it is too early to eat yet. Dinner comes later. Right now, she has other priorities. Slowly, she walks through the house, searching for her companion.

Up staircases Starling pads, feet almost silent across worn wooden boards. She steps carefully along the corridors, peering into rooms. Golden, orange rays spill in through open sash windows. The sun lays patterns across empty rooms and furniture alike, drawing itself like a supernatural veil over all the rooms with west-facing windows. The silence is all consuming, but not in a threatening manner. In fact, the house feels rather like it is slumbering; soaking up the last of autumn's rays. Inside the sleeping building, Starling feels like a ghost. Her step disturbs the sunlit golden patterns for only a second or two, then she walk on, leaving no evidence of her passing through there. Only golden slumber and the sparkles of suspended dust remain.

Starling ventures into the west wing of the house, into His rooms.

Entering through the door this time, Starling stepped into the bedroom. It was infinitely more masculine than her own. All was dark leather and wood, except for matching cast-iron lamps on either side of his bed and a smaller table lamp on the desk. There were traces of his presence scattered around the room like tell-tale footprints. A silver pen on the desk, a closed leather bound tome, an empty glass; all signs of him. A discarded scrap of parchment paper and what looked like splintered charcoal lay on the floor beside the windowsill. Starling knew Lecter sat there and drew. She wondered sometimes why he still drew. No longer caged, it could not be the view that he wanted. Or perhaps he longed for a different view. Perhaps he only wanted what he could not have. Starling had not quite figured out what he wanted yet. Their relationship had vast depths to plumb before she could claim privy to the inner workings of his mind.

Late sunlight spilled across the floor of Lecter's room, showing up the pinpricks of dust as they drifted through the air across the window. Starling watched them sparkle for a moment, caught and sent twirling on the whim of an air current. This room was sleeping too. The doctor was nowhere to be seen.

Starling walked back downstairs, choosing to take the old servant's stairs, which wound tightly down one side of the house. On one of the narrow landings, she paused. Outside the window, something had caught her eye. A lighter mark on the dark greens and gold that made up the lawn. Starling stepped closer to the glass and pressed her palms flat against it, squinting for a better view.

He was sitting in the garden, just beyond the fringe of the newly trimmed lawn. He must have mown it himself, while she was out. Starling could not help but feel mildly surprised. He had never seemed the type for manual labour. She leant against the window frame and watched him for a minute, aware that there were very few such opportunities without him being aware of her presence. He sat where the lawn began to slope away into pastures, beyond the fencing and the last of the trees, in the semi-wild prairie grasses that continued out into the fallow fields beyond their property. Starling continued down the staircase, pausing in the kitchen and made her way out to him at a leisurely pace. As she drew closer, she noted he was wearing a white linen shirt, which was grass stained and rolled up at the sleeves.

Starling gave a half-smile at this uncharacteristic state of mal-dress.

"G'd Evening" she greeted him in that slang fashion that he always quietly chided her for.

Lecter opened his dark eyes slowly, his gaze falling over her face and body. He could take her in and read her completely, all the while managing remaining completely expressionless. Or, not expressionless but politely interested. His eyes fixed on hers. Twin pools of endless maroon. Starling repressed a wider smile. He was beautiful. She shouldn't think it. Those words were wrong, even spoken inside her own head. He was everything that should never be called beautiful. Society would never see it. All the rules opposed it. But Starling could not deny that in her eyes he was beautiful. Something not human. Something other. Starling breathed in the warm air that surrounded them both. It was so fresh and fragrant that she felt like she could almost taste the golden light. Starling drank in the depths of the later summer afternoon. She could smell the trees standing lazily in the forest behind, the empty seed husks of the long grasses in the prairie that spread out before them. If she concentrated hard enough, she could smell him. Cut grass and warmth. He smelt of the day around him.

Starling stood, watching him watch her. She had always felt a bit like a deer in the headlights of those eyes. But today, she pushed past caution, and walked towards him.

He had been sitting with arms resting on raised knees and his chin on one forearm. But as she moved to stand on front of him, the doctor raised his head and tilted his chin upwards. To watch her better, Starling assumed. In return, she raised the slightly filled wine glass she had taken from the kitchen, and offered it to him. As he took it, his fingers brushed against hers lightly. It was more of a whisper than a caress, but just as potent. Starling felt a half-shiver - but not a fearful one. She knelt on front of him, between his bare feet, shoulders brushing Lecter's knees on either side. He held the glass, watching her fold feet underneath thighs. The dark pink of the wine caught the golden light and glowed almost red. Refracting off the glass, a thousand shards of light caught in his eye and glimmered there. The doctor lifted it to his lips and took a sip.

After he had drank, he offered the glass to her. Starling took it and lifted it to her own lips - the motion feeling like some strange communion. She drank in half an inch of wine, letting it play over her tongue before swallowing. It tasted sweet, but left a bitter aftertaste at the back of her mouth. She offered him the rest to finish off, which he did. Starling watched Lecter's face carefully as he ran his tongue over the rim of his upper molar teeth.

What was he thinking? His eyes flickered between her face and the empty glass. Starling produced the bottle from behind her, where he had probably noticed it minutes ago. The doctor reached for it and took it from her, raising an eyebrow because she had removed the label.

"Good?" Starling raised an eyebrow.

She got no expression in response. Instead, he took the bottle and poured himself another half-filled glass. Slowly took another sip. Starling noticed his eyes never left her the entire time and wondered if he was doing it purposefully, to unnerve her. She glanced between the anonymous wine and her companion. They played this game often. Starling picked something she thought he would like and he sampled. The game had started when he had teasingly said that she had little taste; in shoes or in wine. He was right, of course. Lecter was always right. Starling wouldn't have known a Chardonnay from a Pinot Blanc.

She had not managed to pick a good wine by herself yet.

"Hmmm" he took another small sip.

"Well?" she prodded, shifting closer.

They were close enough to feel each other's warmth. The doctor's eyes lifted from the glass to hers, betraying a smile that was beginning to creep over his lips. He sipped again.

"Well, I was right with my first impression."

"Good?" she grimaced hopefully, creeping closer still. He did not reply.

Was this admission - victory for Starling? Her lips curled up into a smile, but then faltered as his did the same. Why was he smiling?

"Actually, it was abysmal. It tasted a little like cleaning fluid." Starling's face fell and she leant back, pushing off his leg as if pushing him away, refuting his opinion of her wine choice.

Starling tried to propel herself away, but her companion was far too fast. Dropping the glass none too carefully onto the grassy incline, Lecter caught hold of her by the wrist and one side of her waist. He held her in that position, then pulled her closer. Her face was now barely an inch from his own - his fingers spread up her rib cage. There, he could feel every raised heartbeat. The organ in question began to beat even faster in response.

"You are far too competitive, Clarice Starling." Starling's lover whispered, with words like spun silk. "Your wine bills must be reaching astronomical heights. I wonder when you will admit that you know nothing about this little game we play?"

She almost opened her mouth, but closed it again, deciding he might let her go more quickly if she said nothing. He grinned wolfishly, revelling in the situation.

"You have excruciatingly bad taste."

"And you are excruciatingly irritating."

He gave her a reproachful glance

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were stating the obvious and, as you know, I am competitive by nature!" Starling flicked one eyebrow.

Ha - touche!

Lecter gave a low, throaty chuckle and pulled her closer. Starling squirmed in delight, trying to sit up. Her companion's hands held her firm, however, pinned to the warm grassy slope. He pressed one pointed canine tooth against her cheek. Done in a strange embrace or to mark her, Starling did not know or much care. It felt good. She groaned, vibrations in her throat intensifying the feel of his teeth against her skin. The combined sensations sent shivers up her spine.

"Ah." she sounded amusingly like she had reached some new enlightenment.

They both laughed. Then he brushed her tingling skin with careful lips and whispered there, against her skin;

"I could lie and say it wasn't so terrible?" His words were breathed, rather than spoken.

Always back to the game. Did this man never just let things drop?

"Thanks, but no thanks."

Tone kept purposefully short, Starling firmly extricated herself from his grasp. She was not really angry. This was just part of the game. She picked the wine - he sampled the wine - he didn't like the wine - she pretended to be angry - and it pleased him to see her angry. Those were the steps they danced. Now, it was her move. And if she played it right, she would get a reward.

"There's no need to lie. I'm good." Sitting up, she made a show of collecting the bottle and glass.

Thoroughly enjoying some private joke at her expense, Lecter smiled at her then reached up, taking the bottle as it hung from her fingers. With a gentle tug, it fell free from her grasp and he began to play with it between his fingertips. Rolling it. Slowly. The light shining through the pale green bottle made patterns across his skin. Refracted light. Dancing lines. Lecter held out an open palm for her to hand over the glass as well. A beat passed in silence, then he raised one eyebrow. Clarice Starling shook her head. Fine, you win. Again. With a sigh and a soft smile, she slowly gave up the wine glass.

The sun was lowering slightly in the sky, becoming redder. The light intensified his eyes and warmed her back as she stood before him. The first glass had spilt across the grass like a bloodstain when he dropped it. Lecter poured himself another half measure. One more round then, doctor, thought Starling. She watched him carefully. Watched his eyes. One more round of our little game.

"Hm." He sipped again. And grimaced. Starling frowned through the smile that tugged the corners of her lips.

"Don't go putting yourself out," She smirked "it was only ten dollars a bottle anyway" She laughed out loud at the blatantly repulsed look her companion gave the glass in his hand.

He paused, then obviously throwing aside his better judgement, he threw back the last of the pale red wine. For her amusement perhaps. The expression on his face was priceless. One eye shut, the other narrowed, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. Starling snorted, unable to swallow her growing mirth.

"Eugh!"

"Well don't put it in your mouth then" she giggled.

Lecter's eyes sparkled. Starling gathered her muscles, tensing to spring away from him and his mischievous glance. He clearly had intentions of a less-than-gentlemanly nature. He felt her twitch and reacted first. Lunging forwards, he re-captured her by the waist. Then by the lips. Starling giggled, reminded suddenly of days gone by - of teenage tumbles on sunny lawns. They should be too old for this sort of behaviour, but it felt right. Lecter held her down, half-lying across her. Fingers brushed the sensitive skin in the shallow of her hip bone. Starling gave a shriek and tried to escape. But no way. His chest held her flat. She couldn't get any leverage for movement.

Failing escape, Starling wriggled in his grasp, insinuating herself more closely between his legs. If he wasn't going to let her go, she planned on making life as uncomfortable as possible for him.

"Ahh!" Starling squeaked "You're crazy, let me go!"

Wriggle from her. Grin from him.

"Hm. Nooo."

Another wriggle.

Her movements elicited a small groan, one which did not imply discomfort. Starling gave a low chuckle. She tried to slide further down, but his hands were strong and he easily subdued her, sliding her back across the grass to him. Pinned tightly to the prairie grass, her hair dotted with seeds of the grasses, Starling gave a contented sigh. She was home.

The pair let themselves fall into familiar patterns. A touch to affirm the other's presence, just to reassure themselves that it was real. Autumn's angelic golden rays did nothing to make it seem less like a fantasy. But they could touch and it wasn't a dream. The feel of each other, real and raw, caused thrills that spread from the ends of Starling's toes to her fingertips. She ran her hands across his forearms as he held her to him. Wriggle. He had managed somehow to push his face into the angle formed by her neck and collarbone. There, Lecter seemed fascinated by the pulse of her jugular. His lips pressed softly after each alternate beat. They lay quietly for a moment. Then he pulled his face back and kissed her softly on the lips. So softly, so gently, so unlike anything Hannibal Lecter should be.

"Hey."

Rolling away, he fell back onto the grass and exhaled heavily. Starling propped herself up on elbows, looking over.

"Hey yourself."

Lecter blinked.

"What is on your mind, Clarice Starling?"

Starling felt her eyebrows slide up. He was right, of course. There was something on his mind; that card she had used earlier today, at the veterinary practice. But she hadn't thought it showed. She hadn't even realised she had been thinking about it until he voiced it aloud. Had he seen it in her eyes? Had she let something slip earlier. Not listened - not responded?

"It's not imp-" she started, but swallowed the words at the sight of his eyes. Nothing was 'not important'. He had told her that more than once. "It was just something that happened earlier."

"What, Clarice?"

"A card. I used an old card - the one from Buenos Aires."

Lecter raised an eyebrow, looking slightly less than impressed.

Starling stammered for an explanation.

"I panicked. I was out of cash and the clerk was looking at me like I was some sort of... street urchin. I found the card in the back of my bag, so I just-" Starling sighed. "I just used it."

"Clarice…"

"I - I didn't think!"

He stared for a beat.

"There are no connections between us and Buenos Aires. No common bank routing. Your actions should not endanger us, but I would not advise repeating them."

"I know."

"Next time, I suggest you try and think a little less about your blue-collar pride and a little more about how life looks from behind those bars, Clarice."

_Ouch! That stung._

"Don't think for a second that I did this on purpose. I made a mistake. I should have had cash on me." Starling tore off the tops of the grass she was lying on and twisted them between her fingertips. "You know, you're not so perfect either." The words came out a bit more 'bitter' than Starling had intended.

A moment passed.

"Sorry." She murmured.

"I never professed to be faultless, Clarice. So, I shall rephrase." he took a breath. "You can never know what it is like, to spend years without seeing the sun. I hope you never do - but it is what awaits you, should we ever be caught."

"And death awaits you."

"Yes."

Starling groaned and rubbed her face.

"I'm sorry. I was stupid."

"You were human, Clarice Starling. You responded to a situation, that is all you are guilty of." Starling turned her head and they met each other's gaze. She flicked the tips of grass she had been playing with, at him, across her stomach.

"Yeah, tell _that_ to the courts."

There was gentle amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, Clarice, I would love to."

Yeah, Starling thought with a smirk, you probably would.

"What would you do me for, fraternising with the enemy?"

"Aiding and abetting, I believe is the term."

Starling smiled, and then the pair sighed simultaneously. Lecter reached out one hand and slipped it against her side. A motion of solidarity. And maybe of forgiveness.

"I'll double check the card details tomorrow."

The small knot of tension, that had resided in the pit of her stomach ever since using the card, lessened slightly. It wasn't solely on her shoulders anymore, Starling had someone to share the burden. She rolled towards the doctor and curled against his side. One strong arm cradled her against the side of his chest.

"Triple check?"

His bicep twitched as he scratched the skin on her belly lightly.

She nuzzled her face into his shirt.

"Thank you."

Together, they watched the sun as it lowered into the fire braided clouds that hung across the horizon. Their house was on the slightest of rises, so the view across the New York trees, and patches of prairie, was so wide that Starling swore she could see the curve of the Earth. Such a huge expanse before them. As the burning sphere dropped from the heavens, it looked just like the sunsets on the wide, sky-never-ending prairies of her youth.

Starling lay, quite content with simply touching and being touched by another human. She thought, to herself, that it was an incredible gift to be given another's body so willingly. Just to be able to lie together, sprawled in a manner so completely unlike him, under this sky. The comfort of such physical intimacy gave her a sense of calm. She wondered if there was a word for such a beautiful combination of chemicals and pheromones between two people. And if there was, she wondered if she could ever speak it aloud.

Lecter was playing with a thin bracelet she had, tied around her wrist. It was made of hemp fibres, delicately wound through white shell beads. He bought it for her in Buenos Aires. He had bought her many beautiful things, but this simple bracelet had barely left her wrist since its purchase. Starling glanced at her companion, wondering if he remembered buying it for her, or its significance. It had been bought at a little market, one year after she had left everything behind for this new life. Starling looked back to the sky. If she had questioned her decision before, it was moments like this she had always looked to for comfort. A sky stretching out to eternity, a lover's touch and the caress of the grass and the wind on her skin. She was more free, running with him, than she could ever have ever been standing 'free' with the FBI.

His fingers twisted the bracelet absently, eyes still fixed on the sun. His other hand had slipped beneath the small of her back, tips of fingers tracing her spine above and below the waistband of her jeans. His skin was inhumanly warm.

A bird flew past and the Doctor slipped carefully from Starling's side, walking a few paces away to watch the bird's flight over the fields. It flew towards the woodlands at the house's other border and Lecter stood, seemingly in awe. It had always fascinated Starling, that Lecter was held in almost equal rapture by the sight of a bird as the touch of a woman. She wondered, running her hands idly through the grass, if he held the two concepts at all separately in his convoluted mind. Art, music, nature; all beautiful things he coveted. Like that poor sick man in the skin suit, he coveted what he saw. And he gave each sight equal importance - considered it separate and in itself. Marcus Aurelius would be proud.

He tired of watching the birds and walked the few paces back towards her. Standing over her, he watched intently and with much interest as he had watched the birds before. She was beauty in his eyes. That thought stirred Starling inside and she let a smile that showed it crawl across her lips.

"In the grass, Clarice? I would have never taken you for an exhibitionist."

"I've done it before." She whispered, pulling herself up to sit as he knelt down from standing. Something about him and the moment made her want to tell him something, something nobody else knew. They had always talked a great deal. She had shared countless secrets with him, but there were an equal number again hidden safe inside Starling's memories. Sticky fumblings, not restricted only to back seats of cars, were among such memories.

She knelt on front of him, their faces directly opposite one another.

"He was called Jason," she reached up, tentatively touching the lines of his cheekbones and watching the sun play across them, thinking back to late-summers gone. "It was fall, a bit later than this. We made love in the leaves under a tree in his Daddy's back garden."

"Made love?" he injected the appropriate amount of sarcasm, meant to sting, but Starling had chosen the words specifically, and just nodded in response.

"In that moment, I did love him."

He tilted his head slightly, piercing her, and then frowning a bit.

"Rapture, Clarice, just lust and desire."

Starling shook her head.

"Have you never been frozen with someone, just for a second, and sworn that the whole of existence and everything exists just for the two of you?"

He did not reply. Her fingers slipped to the tendons that ran from under his jaw to the dip of his collarbone. #

"Ever made love to a woman under a wide open sky?"

She did not know, and he probably would never tell, but he had made love before too. Sweet enraptured nineteen, with a beautiful young woman, barely older than he. It had been behind the university outbuildings, at the halls where they both studied medicine. They carved their initials into a tree there.

In his opinion, sex was a base instinct that had very little to do with 'higher' emotions such as love. The women he found interesting company and spent time with were very rarely his sexual partners. Lust was a need, a drive, much like hunger or thirst. That enraptured summer tumble in the leaves apart, he doubted he had ever cared enough about his partners to ever consider making love to them. Not that he was anything less than a gentleman. He was, as in everything he chose to do, a good lover. Ironically, probably because of his emotional detachment.

He watched Starling, then, with a slightly guarded expression.

"All right then, if you don't believe in love, what is it you believe in?" she asked, frowning over at him "Fate, logic, science, predestination, god ...soulmates?" It was okay to ask him these things; he would not read anything more into them. "What do you believe in?"

He did not answer, so she never found out, but he wondered if he was permitted answer that question. He longed to. He longed to answer it honestly. What did Hannibal Lecter believe in? He knew the answer; it was right in front of him. But he did not reply. Instead, he leaned forward and silenced her questions with one finger across coral pink lips. He kissed those lips to halt her words.

And, as the sun lowered another few inches through golden clouds, he took her and made love to her. Under the late summer sky.


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15 – SWAT_

_._

The house where our two discussed sex and love on the lawn is now bathed in darkness. Moving closer to the building, across the wide expanse of clipped grass, are the ten to fifteen heavily armed snipers. They bypass the lax security measures put in place around the land, easily jamming the electric fence for thirty seconds while they slip through. They encounter no further form of protection.

The black coated men make their way up towards the house, moving swiftly but carefully. They had surrounded the house during the early evening, when the sun had just finished setting. Now, the SWAT team moved closer through the dark. Two teams just like them did the same at two different locations nearby. One in upstate New York, the other just a hundred miles away. The times, money trails, house rental; it all fits. They have all three of the target's possible safehouse surrounded. There will be no escape.

Lecter is trapped.

In respect to a call from lead agent Hodgins of the FBI, the SWAT team have been holding back for half an hour. A woman agent called Mapp is flying through to meet the captive Starling when they intercept her. Mapp is meeting up with the team further upstate. She is sure that Lecter will be living in the house closest to the coast. It is more secluded than the other two possible safehouses. And it is enclosed in a forested area, rather than set on the edge of the prairies.

Mapp's expected time of arrival is any minute. When she arrives, the other two teams will get the call. Then they will move in on the house, from the already-secured grounds. The SWAT team crouch in those grounds now. They are hidden in the prairie grasses - swaying like black shadows in the breeze. From the windows of the house, no one would be able to make out their dusky forms. Squatting out of sight and earshot, the men are wraiths.

Their point man, a young agent barely out of the academy, has already moved ahead - into position to clip the phone lines. He will wait in the darkened utility room to cut the electricity as the team make their final move. He takes his place, cutting deftly through the electric fibres before moving back to lean against the wall. He waits for the signal. Under a veneer of calm, he is desperately wishing that either his colleague or his superior (the two running point at the other possible safehouses) were crouched here instead of him. Gods, he was shit-faced scared. The target could well be inside this house. The information point to the others, but he could just as easily be here. The young point man shivers, knowing he had right to. The target was Hannibal Lecter, for christ's sake!

A noise in the darkness behind him, the snuffling of some sort of animal, sends a thrill of terror through him. The point man feels his breathing quicken. Something scuttles across the linoleum floor, sounding worryingly like claws. Green eyes glint in the dark. Something wet flashes – maybe teeth, or saliva? The young agent is beginning to hyperventilate by this point. What can this beast be? What does a cannibal keep in his kitchen? He skitters backwards, almost clashing with the washing machine and threatening to knock over a drying rack. The point man's breath catches in his throat. Something just grazed his fingertips in the dark. Something damp. And cold. He freezes. Not a sound, now. Through thundering heart and panicking mind, he reminds himself that if he does, then game is up. One noise and the SWAT agents could be discovered.

Whatever touched him moves slowly upwards into the palm of his madly shaking hand. Fingertips meet downy fluff. The young point man opens his eyes and looks down.

A puppy stares back up.

A swell of relief fills the young agent, travelling through him like a tidal wave. It is only a puppy - a goddamned puppy! The small infant dog pants and paddles his legs with paws, wagging furiously. Then it barks.

The sound echoes through the empty kitchen.

_Shit._

The bark is followed almost directly by a voice crackling on his walkie talkie. The puppy barked again in excitement and the point man moves his hands over the young animal, trying to juggle his gun and keep it silent.

"Goddamn it, what are you playing at, Agent Parker! Are you trying to wake the whole damn county? Everyone - move in - our cover's blown. Go in as quiet as possible... but weapons up. No holds!"

Over the walkie talkie, the point man can hear the shuffle of black-coated agents moving like liquid smoke through the prairie grass. Up the lawn, up to the house. The clink of guns over the intercom was a chilling sound in the dead of night. Like the clash of teeth on bone.

Suddenly the point man doesn't feel relieved any more.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16 – Back to the wall_

_._

Sound travels easily through the old house. At night, it is like a living creature. When the wind swells outside, the house seems almost to breathe, its timber skeleton creaking. Inside, the house protects from the wind and weather with thick, sturdy walls. Their plaster is thick, but any muffling of noise is cancelled out by the hallways. They are old-manor type cavernous, with such high scalloped ceilings - the perfect acoustics for channelling sound. Resultantly, in the dead of night when all is silent, the drop of a pin echoes loud. And from the first floor master bedroom where Starling and Lecter sleep, any noise in the kitchen is still faintly audible. Nothing happens in the house without them hearing it; an advantageous situation when tiny noises in the night signal danger.

Starling woke to the whimpers of the puppy from downstairs.

Normally, upon waking, Starling would have ignored the puppy's cries. He was still settling in and would often whimper when left alone, especially at nights. She did not blame him. Even Starling preferred having company in the silence of the night. A dark, creaking house was nowhere to be alone. Starling nuzzled into the curve her sleeping lover's body, and pulled the sheets tighter across her back.

Another whimper.

A frown graced her brow. Tonight, the puppy's yelps did not sound like noises of attention-seeking. Instead, they were pleased little noises. Greeting noises. Starling lifted her head from the pillow, freeing her ear to hear better. The door to the doctor's rooms had not been closed and sound travelled up freely from the kitchen. The door had no need to close. The house was their own private sanctuary. Being so isolated out in the county, they didn't even close the curtains either. The only living things for miles were the trees, the puppy, and the two very living, softly breathing bodies sprawled amongst the rumpled sheets of his bed.

Starling held her head up for another minute, straining her ears. Nothing. The puppy did not bark again. She yawned and stretched slightly. Muscles of liquid, she noted with a smile. No doubt due to the attentions of her sleeping partner. Starling rolled on to her stomach to admire her companion. He was fast asleep. It pleased her to watch him sleep and she took every opportunity to do so. He was beautiful. The curve of his collar bone rose and fell under his skin with each slow breath. Starling leaned closer, feeling the warmth rise from his skin. He looked far more human when he was asleep, Starling noted. Just flesh, skin and bone. Not innocent - Starling would never see him as innocent - but human.

She was about to settle back down to watch him for a bit longer, when the pup yelped again downstairs. The bark, again, sounded playful. Starling frowned. What could it possibly be barking at? Both Lecter and Starling had been upstairs and asleep for at least two hours. She had left nothing on in the kitchen, no washing machine on in the laundry room. Starling's frown deepened, and a dark feeling of foreboding began to creep through her. If he wasn't crying for attention, what could be disturbing Gil, downstairs in the dark, in the middle of the night?

_Shit._

Starling sat bolt upright as the realisation hit her.

"Shit!"

Her companion twitched beside her and groaned aloud at the sudden movement.

"What are-?"

In one fluid movement, she rolled over and clapped her hand over his mouth.

"Shh... something's wrong."

They held their position for a moment, listening to the night. Then the puppy whimpered again, and then the noise of something being turned over came from downstairs. Lecter nodded wordlessly. Lifting her hand, Starling slipped from his side. Off the bed, she made her way to the window, cautious to avoid stepping on creaky floorboards. Any noise could give away their position, to an intruder. Starling made it to the window and peeked around the side of the frame. Nothing but dark grounds.

"I can't see anything."

Behind her, the doctor had risen also.

He pulled on discarded clothes and padded to the bedroom door; footfalls even softer than hers and his pace more controlled. Lecter seemed as if he had been conscious for hours, not seconds. Alert and calm, he paused in the door frame. As he assessed the hallway, the doctor seemed in dependant of emotion or fear. Starling shot him an envious glance. She had never really had the opportunity to see him in action before, but the file had said it all. Even now, woken in the depth of night by an unknown sound, she doubted Lecter's heart rate was above eighty-five.

Meanwhile, over at the window, she was nearly panicking. Starling turned back to squint out at the grounds. It was very dark, but the light inside the house was not on, and her eyes were becoming accustomed. She checked the usual spots in which an assault team would hide. Behind the fence line, in the bushes near the forest edge. Nothing. Still, a growing feeling of trepidation grew within her. SWAT were ghosts. Even if they were there, Starling doubted she could pick them out at this distance. A soft noise caused her to glance over at Lecter. He mouthed 'hall' and slipped off into the darkness of the night house. _Be careful_, she wanted to whisper, but held her silence. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself. He kept a knife in the bedside table and he knew how to use it. Starling, of all people, was aware of that.

Heart thundering, Starling's ears straining into the silence of the house. She couldn't hear a thing, but that meant nothing. Starling remembered all the raids she had been on. In with the dusk, settling like silent shadows around the house; they had been invisible too. They sat and waited, setting up every detail of the trap before making their final move. And then, once they had cut the electricity lines, the target never stood a chance.

Electricity lines… Yes.

Starling's eyes slipped over to the socket on the wall. She didn't dare try the switch on the lamp connected to it. The light source would signal to any intruders that she was awake. Then Starling had a brainwave. Before SWAT cut the electricity lines, they would cut the phone and Internet lines. It was common practice back when she was a field agent. She padded quietly out into the hallway and down the hall to the spare room, sometimes used as a study, because of the modem port behind the table. Starling crept across the room to the phone and picked it up. Headset to ear. Nothing. She cursed. Not a trace of a line, fuzzy or otherwise.

Starling was placing the phone back in its cradle when-

"Ah-!"

Her gasp of surprised was muffled by a hand being placed over her mouth.

"Hushhh..." familiar voice and fingertips, as familiar as her own skin. The leap of fear that had surged through Starling subsided slightly and she ceased her struggling. "Listen to me very carefully, Clarice," Lecter's hand pulled back, tracing the corners of her mouth.

"The modem's down, it's SWAT-!" Starling blurted, as soon as her mouth was free.

Lecter's eyes darted towards the door he had just closed behind him. A small scraping noise had just echoed up from the lower stairwell.

"Shh, I know. I have trip wires in the woods and one has been triggered."

Starling blinked. She had not even known about the trip wires. Then again, she was pretty sure he did not know about the motion sensors she had installed in the front garden, near the driveway entrance. They ran off their own generator, in the shed. Call it paranoia, but Starling liked to be prepared.

"I have motion sensors-"

"Yes. Your systems tripped too." Lecter added, with a humourless smile.

He moved into the dark shadowy corner of the room, pushing aside a chair and backing up against the wall. He paced for a minute, and then positioned himself where he could watch both the window and the doorway at once. Starling followed, too startled by the progression of events to wonder how long he had known about her extra security provisions.

"What are you doing?"

"Come away from the door, Clarice."

Starling was stiff with the terror and panic that now ran riot through her system. Her mind wanted to scream, her body to run. Or to hide somewhere, curled up very, very small until the bad men went away. She realised she was shaking slightly. Lecter walked over and took her arm, guiding her towards the corner where he had taken up guard. At his pull, Starling's frozen state seemed to shatter for a moment.

"We can't just wait here, we need to get out – go – escape!" she shook herself free from his grip. Lecter stood, eyes hiding some unknown emotion, across from her. Unmoving. "Come on," Starling repeated urgently, her voice quivering just above a whisper "We've got to move. We've got to get out!"

With a breathy sigh she closed the gap and placed her shaking fingertips to his forearm.

"Please!"

"Come now, Clarice, not even you and I can escape this truth. They've got us surrounded."

The words struck hard.

Starling opened her mouth, searching for words, but there were none. They were surrounded, trapped. Her heart throbbed harder. She was going to die like this, wasn't she? Exploding in on herself in the dark, trapped and surrounded. She nearly whimpered, but he shifted, increasing their proximity and the warmth of his body comforted her slightly. They stood close, breathing shared air and listening to the night.

Another soft creak downstairs caused them both to jump. Starling could no longer hear the puppy bark, and hoped to god that they had not harmed it. She prayed they would get out of this. Her eyes turned to Lecter. What was going to happen to them – to him? Lecter's eyes flashed, catching the light of the moon as it trickled in through the un-curtained windows. Starling swallowed. She knew what would happen to him. If they captured him, he would go back to prison and be retried for his crimes. Back to prison, back to that square cell. He would rather die than go back there. He had told her that one time, long ago. It was one of the few times when they had both shared their innermost fears. So often it was just Starling who did the sharing. She wished, now, that she had asked more questions.

Missed opportunities flooded her eyes as tears, but Starling blinked them back. No! They had to get out. They would not be captured here, not like this! She made towards the window, thinking maybe they could make their escape that way, but Lecter grabbed her by the arm.

"An attempt to escape that way would be useless. There is no way to get past them; they know exactly where we are. I saw a young agent with a body heat detector."

"We could tr-y!" Her breath caught very slightly.

Don't cry, she bit at herself, damn it Starling, don't cry. Then again, what damned good would holding her tears back do them now? He was going to prison - hell - she was going to prison for this! Starling felt her throat tighten, her heart pounding like the double-beat of a drum inside her ears. Every time she had played this situation out in her mind, she had been calmer. Starling swore, hands shaking as she ran them over her face. No matter how many times she had prepared for this, no matter how many times they had discussed the possibility of their capture, she could never be ready.

When they had discussed it, Starling had insisted that the doctor respect her choice. Should they ever be captured again, Starling would claim to be as culpable as Lecter. Not a hostage and certainly not a victim. It was beneath her to even consider not taking responsibility for her actions. She had chosen this life with him. She had chosen to run. She had chosen to become a fugitive, a felon, to aid and abet a convicted murderer. She had chosen the danger of freedom over life spent in a cage.

"Oh god" but being prepared didn't mean she was ready. She had only just found this newfound freedom, this newfound feeling. She couldn't just give up.

Another creaking noise and the sound of metal scraping wood. Someone was coming up the stairs at the first landing.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"Hush."

Starling glared at her companion. What good would being quiet do them now? He stared back, with a strange expression in his eyes. Sadness, regret?

"They're coming, what do we do?"

Starling made to walk towards the window again. She had a gun. She had picked it up from her bedside table before going to check the phone lines. Maybe there were only a couple agents below the window. Maybe they could still escape – they could still-

"Come back to me, Starling."

"Back," she gave a nervous half-laugh "back and do what, go where?"

He was watching her with an infuriating calm.

"Stay."

"Stay for what?" she could hear her voice getting louder, but she was too distressed to do anything about it. "Stay for what?" she repeated "To watch you kill yourself? You said you'd rather die than go back to that place!" she hissed.

Tears had come now, whether Starling wanted them or not.

The doctor stared on, eyes emotionless yet piercing. She swore and tried to walk away, then stopped, paced back, the away again. Gripping her scalp, Starling let out a small whimper of frustration. It took thirty seconds of careful breathing to calm her overactive senses and stop herself from breaking down right there and then. She could hear someone searching next door – carrying out protocol. They knew where she and the doctor were. This would be the last room to be stormed. The team was outside right now, guns pointed to the door.

"Last chance, Clarice"

She looked over.

He was holding a syringe in the palm of his hand. He must have kept them in an emergency stash somewhere. She knew what was inside it. It was the same drug that he had used to purge her demons, in those first few days they had spent together. He could make it look like she had been held here against her will. He could make her just a victim. Starling's eyes rested on it for a moment, then crept back to meet his gaze. She shook her head. She was scared, terrified in fact, but her heart had started to slow slightly and with it came a clearing of the mind.

Starling breathed in, slowly. Then out.

"Not in a million years."

"That's my girl." He whispered back, eyes ablaze with pride.

"I made my choice, and I fully intend to stick by it." Starling paused, as if wanting to say something else.

Lecter faltered too, lips parting but no sound coming forth. The moment hung in the air; the heavy weight of a thousand unsaid words. Starling had always known they wouldn't have forever. She was not naive, but she had always thought they would have more time than this. Starling had assumed she would get to say those thousand unsaid words to her companion. She had thought that eventually, there might come a day when he would tell her all his secrets back.

Before either of them could manage the words, three knocks to the door shattered their concentration.

"Open up – armed response – we've got you surrounded!"

It was a young man's voice, slightly nervous and more than slightly quivering. Maybe he was a first timer. Starling could remember her first like it was yesterday. It had been just like this. Same darkness all around, same fear, the sound of her heartbeat beating so loud it was almost deafening in the silence.

"I guess this is it then, huh?"

A million thoughts ran through her head as she looked at him. Maroon pools appeared almost black in the moonlight, like the blood that would be spilt tonight. Because he wasn't going back; Starling knew that. Her hand slid to her waistband, where she had stowed the gun from her bedside drawer. The barrel was cold against her hand as she slid it free. Starling considered not giving it to him and turning it out the window. But then he would only step into the gunfire when the agents stormed the place.

Searching his face, Starling could see no compromise. That pride, burning for her, had not faded from his eyes. In fact, the contrary was true. His gaze was a fire of passion. But it was also the look of a man who had made his choice. Lecter would sacrifice for freedom.

Starling would never turn the gun on herself. She was too young and far, far too scared to die now. Maybe that meant she was a coward. Truth was, Starling did not know what would come after that bullet and that thought alone scared her senseless. She was the faithless; no country and no god. Her eyes turned to Lecter and the pit of seething worry that was her stomach calmed slightly.

Well, she wasn't quite faithless.

The three steps towards him felt like a lifetime. Starling handed the gun to Lecter and stepped closer, until they were toe to toe, chest to chest, forehead to chin in the darkness. She leant into his arms and let him guide them both back into the corner of the room. They were more sheltered there, by the table and several overturned chairs. Backs to the wall. Trapped but together. Outside, the young agent repeated the SWAT demands, his voice stronger this time, showing more confidence. The words rang hollowly in Starling's peripheral awareness. She stared at her companion. What could she possibly say that would do her feelings justice? What should your last words be, to the man who saved your life?

"What do you believe in, doctor? You never answered me before."

What do you believe in that makes you so strong that you're not afraid to die? Starling watched Lecter's eyes flicker across her face. He looked so calm. Or was just insane, was that his secret? If that was the case, if insanity was all it took, Starling didn't think she would be afraid to turn the gun on herself. After all, she was a little bit crazy. She had to be, to have ended up here. Like this.

Standing close, shoulder to shoulder. He stared straight ahead and so she did to. Starling felt like a soldier, facing the firing squad. The punishment for treason, in the old days. Treason. Starling smiled. How appropriate. She would have laughed, but her heart was beating far too violently for sound to make it to her lips. On front of the firing squad. One last stand. Beside her, Lecter brushed her skin with the side of one hand in a tiny motion of solidarity. His other hand, hidden at his side, was gripping the gun destined to be placed against his temple. He finally sighed and answered her question.

"I believe in many things, little Starling."

Starling looked around with a reproachful expression. She wasn't sure she deserved the 'little', not after all they had been through. But there was a quiet sadness in the way he teased her, so she let it slide. One last dig. It was reassuring, somehow.

Lecter turned his head to face her.

"You know, I never did quite figure you out, Clarice." What was the emotion she could see in her companion's eyes? Starling was not quite sure. "Sometimes I thought I had. But then you would do, or say, something completely unexpected. Eventually, I realised that I could mould you - I could sculpt the clay you are made of and I could refine you - but I could never control you. I could never understand you, not completely." He paused, considering her. "You are a gift, Clarice, the lesson I have waited a lifetime to learn. With you I do not have to understand, only trust." his eyes fixed on hers. In that moment, their depth seemed never-ending. "I believe in you, Clarice Starling."

Starling closed her eyes. A tear squeezed out. Then fell.

"Wow."

"Hmm."

She opened her eyes. He was still staring back.

"You know-" Starling choked on her tears, swallowed and tried again. "You know I love you, don't you?"

The poignancy of finally saying those words burned in her chest. Or maybe that was just her heart, about to tear in two. He stared back, and Starling swore she could see her reflection just a little bit clearer than usual in his eyes.

"Unequivocally."

How Hannibal. Starling laughed. Then, wiping the tear that had fallen - and its comrades - from her cheek, she nodded.

"Unequivocally, doctor."

A beat of silence passed.

"Are you going to ask me not to shoot?"

"Don't shoot." _You don't know, you really don't know, how much I__want you not to shoot._

But the words were just a formality. Hannibal Lecter was resigned and she would be a fool to try change his mind. Starling shut her eyes, seeking out her companion's fingers in the dark. Her hand fit inside his, warm and surprisingly dry. She had expected it to be sweaty. In fact, she expected hers to be sweaty. Starling shivered as her lover leaned over, breathing words into the soft down of her hairline.

"You said you wouldn't ask me."

"You said you wouldn't make me ask you."

"I lied."

Starling smiled again, tasting the saltiness of tears on her lips.

"So did I."

Outside, the young agent repeated his terms one last time. They'd had their three chances, now SWAT would kick the door in. Starling was terrified, shaking. The world seemed to be working in slow motion. Surreal yet hyper-realistic. Her senses were heightened. She could see everything in a thousand wavelengths of light, that she had never noticed before. Her mind was racing. Yet, her body was becoming calmer; heart steadying, breathing slowing, mind surprisingly clear, considering her world was about to be blown in two.

A shaky breath.

"Thank you, Hannibal."

One last time, then, doctor. Starling turned and pressed her lips to his.

Goodbye was beautiful in the way that explosions and lightning are beautiful. Like a car crash - terrible yet fascinating in its macabre glory - burning its last in a burst of flame. There was danger inherent in the touch of their lips; an electricity, a semblance of desperation. The hourglass that held their time together was fast dripping dry. Another grain of sand, another second passing. It was almost empty now. Starling felt more tears form along the rim of her eyelid and she swallowed back a cry. Her body was trembling. One last time, doctor, one last time. She kissed him with her eyes open, so she could take in every last sense of him. Hot skin, sweetness of his mouth, his familiar scent. Things only a lover could identify. If his lips were all she could feel, she would still know him.

His returning kiss was less urgent than hers. The kiss of a man savouring his last moments. Soft and tender. They lingered close, brushing skin and lips. Lips on lips. Skin on skin. Starling's companion whispered something she could not hear against the rise of her cheek. She could not hear, but she understood.

They parted with hesitance, lips hovering, then dipped in again for another last kiss. Then another. And another. He pulled back first, turning her chin slightly to kiss the side of her cheek rather than her lips. All Starling could hear in the dead silence then was her soft, gulping cries, his harsh breathing. And the wet parting their lips made between each quivering breath.

_Crash._

The first kick to the door nearly shattered it from its old frame. Both fugitives jumped and looked around. The door did not look like it was going to last much longer. Splinters had appeared in what had once been solid oak. They fractured up the centre, then spread out to the lintel. A single woodchip fragment fell to the floor with a click. Lecter sighed softly.

Starling wrapped her fingers around his thumb and held him to her. In the dark. Breathing harshly. Hanging onto borrowed time.

"Are you scared?" she whispered, as the SWAT team moved back to kick the door again.

"Terrified."

His answer surprised her. The doctor had always seemed untouchable, and had mentioned before that he did not fear death. He clicked the safety off the gun. Starling swallowed and looked skywards, praying to the god whom she had long abandoned.

_Crash._

Another kick. She could see the shadows of agents, moving behind the missing splinters of door.

"You really were quite something to know, Clarice."

Starling's eyes lowered to his. A moment. A second. A connection between more than their eyes - their souls, maybe. She had already known what Hannibal Lecter believed in, she needn't have asked earlier. He believed in life and death and truth and beauty. And he believed in her. The question she should have been asking all those years was what _she_ believed in. Whatever it was, it was sure about to be tested.

Her hands were shaking.

_Crash._

With one final kick, the door collapsed inwards, splintering the hinges out. Two men came in through the window, guns raised. A shot rang off and Starling screamed. But her companion did not fall behind her. The movement he did make was so swift that she barely felt the pinprick.

"I'm sorry" a whisper in her ear. Then the cold rush of morphine, spreading through her body and mind. She felt herself falling backwards, as all conscious thought slowly retreated into a safe, drugged haze. Everything became glazed and foggy. She was falling…

Time seems to slow.

The doctor pulls Starling's unconscious form in front of him, raising the hand that held the gun to her neck. She is just a pawn now. An innocent. The morphine has done its work. She is unconscious. When the men with guns apprehend them, ex-FBI Special Agent Starling, will be taken to hospital while he will be taken to prison. She will be welcomed back into the arms of those who she fled from, all those years ago. There will be some friendly faces among them. Ardelia Mapp, for one. Mapp will welcome her old friend back with an open heart. Clarice will be taken care of.

This is the way it has to be. Clarice is strong, but she could not survive life in a cage. Not a real cage. She has only just escaped the cage that was her mind. No. A life behind bars would kill her. Maybe not at first, because she was strong, but eventually that beauty he loved about her - that terrible strength she held within her - would wither and die.

Clarice Starling was a gift. To whatever gods had bestowed her upon him, to whatever fate had blown her his way, Lecter gave thanks with every ounce of his being. There was no good in saying that he did not deserve her. It was foolish to try and quantify a relationship like that, to value a person's worth. Clarice Starling was everything he could never be. Beauty and light, incorruptible as truth. His polar opposite in many ways. But there was something between them which transcended all their differences. An understanding on some higher level. Something other. While it lasted, 'they' were beautiful. Now the hourglass is empty. Their time together has been short. But perhaps the heartache of leaving is the price he must pay, for a gift such as his Clarice.

He closes his eyes. Breathes in her scent. There is a dampness around his eyes which he is glad the half-light hides.

The men move in over splinters of broken door, black shadows sweeping towards them. Lecter thinks vaguely that he should attempt to negotiate. He has a hostage, after all. It would be considered the logical action. He raises the gun. They expect it. The men who leap in through the window take a well-aimed shot at the side of his thigh and he is down before a single demand can be made. Both fugitives crumple slowly to the floor, half-clutching at each other as they fall. Blood spurts from the wound on his leg. Lecter, fast fading into shock, knows that they have nicked the femoral artery. He closes his eyes, stepping back inside the calm of his own mind. In his arms, Starling is long gone; far too drugged to note anything happening around her. Her fingers are still clutched like a child's, shaped around where his thumb used to be.

The men in black fatigues sweep in around them, encompassing them like a cloud. Lights flash on the roads outside. The SWAT team have accomplished their mission and now the police and paramedics are arriving. Across the state in another house, Mapp is on the phone already, arranging to be transported to the correct location. She will meet Starling at the hospital. The quiet night house is suddenly alive with fifteen agents who had, until very recently, been nothing more than shadows in the grounds. They are now sweeping the property, locating point of interest, logging important items. Upstairs, the medic has his fingers on Lecter's thready pulse. Another is carrying Starling's limp body through to the next room. She is laid upon the bed and there she stays, hair spread out around her like an angel, in the darkness. The police cars reach the house. The handcuffs come out, as does the gag and bound jacket. Lecter is restrained and loaded into a heavily secured army truck. Five guards accompany him and two paramedics. All armed and all willing to use those weapons. They drive off amid a blaze of sirens and police escorts.

It is done. They are captured. Starling is back in the hands of the FBI and Lecter is on the road to his own Calvary. His freedom, which he values as greater than his life, is laid out on the altar before his enemies. But it is a willing forfeit.

Sacrifice is defined as the destruction or surrender of something, in exchange for something else. In the Doctor's mind, it is a gift of unspeakable value; like Clarice had been to him. To give his life for his own freedom would have been considered no sacrifice by the cannibal. The sacrifice was in willingly trading that freedom for hers.


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17 - Three hours_

_._

Starling woke, not to the beep of the monitor at her bedside, or to the voices surrounding her, but to the rising feeling of bile in her throat.

She choked.

"Clarice?" someone reached forwards and touched her shoulder.

Starling jerked suddenly from a horizontal position and rolled over to her left, vomiting over the side of her hospital bed. Her stomach's contents were little more than acid and the occasional streak of dark; the remnants of the last meal she ate, what must have last night now. Starling wracked her mind for some reason why her last meal was the only thing she could focus on. The room around her was fuzzy, her eyesight dim and her memory as good as negligible. She had little idea or interest when, where and even who she was. Blocking. She was blocking, but what from? Starling choked again, her body shaking. What was she blocking out?

Think, damn it, woman, think! Starling groaned, feeling her stomach churn once more. A moment and a hard swallow quashed the urge to empty it. Her mind was slowly ticking away, in a vain attempt at thought. Something clicked into place. Lamb. That last meal, once more, all she could think about. She grimaced. It had been lamb; casserole with shallots and baby asparagus. With a frown, Starling realised she could even recall the exact shade of the vegetables. Strange what the human mind held on to. She still had no idea where she was, or the time. Starling shook herself, trying to rid her hands of tremors. She could feel what she suspected to be a highly unattractive string of saliva between her mouth and chin, courtesy of her last projectile vomiting feat. An attempt wipe it away failed. She couldn't manipulate her shaking hands in the right direction.

A grip on her arm made Starling jump. The hands were woman's hands. The slighter knuckles and fine prick of fingernails. Familiar, but definitely female. Definitely not her companion's hands. Starling's forehead furrowed and she closed her eyes tighter. At the subconscious thought of him, her mind had clenched suddenly. Trying to… trying to… what… forget. But forget what? A wave of fear shot through Starling. She panted slightly, trying to sort herself upright or open her eyes, whichever her body would respond to first. Her shaking hands sought to grip the edge of the cold metal hospital bed. Where was the Doctor, where was Hannibal?

Realisation hit so suddenly and hard that it threatened to split her head in two. Starling retched again, another wave of bile rushing up her throat. Pure acid, this time. She coughed. The acid from inside her burned almost as much as the tears that stung her eyes.

"Clarice?" That voice again, familiar voice "God, woman!" Starling recognised but couldn't quite stop panicking to place it. "Hey you, nurse, get over here. She's vomiting again, there's got to be something you can give her to help with this. You said the pain killer would make her nauseous but this is ridiculous."

Starling felt herself passed between rough hands. Poked, prodded, her streaming eyes pried open only to be flooded with blinding light. She whimpered, unable to stop herself. He was gone and it was too bright – her brain was still too drugged to work on any higher level than that. But that was enough to cause her insurmountable pain.

"Clarice, baby, can you hear me?" Woman's voice again. Familiar voice.

Starling felt the tiniest signals of cries starting in the back of her throat. He was gone. Lecter was not here and for some reason that was bad. She couldn't remember how, or why, or what had happened, any more than she could remember who she was. Another sniff, a cry. She knew that crying was so not her, but she couldn't help it. Her body was not responding to her mind, her mind was not working fast enough to keep up with her movements. She was watching the scene from third-person perspective. The voices of the women and one man were all unfamiliar except for the one. The prick of a needle in her arm jogged some memory and Starling 's brain threatened to split again.

Dark night, shadows moving, Gil barking, hiding… She whimpered out loud as the events of the previous night slowly became clear.

That sneaky bastard had drugged her! He had stood behind her, barefaced lied and pricked her in the arm with a syringe full of goddamned morphine! Starling choked again, not quite sure what to make of this revelation. Cry, scream? Her predominant feeling was rage, but it was closely seconded by continued waves of pain at his absence. She wanted him here, even if only to hit him. She groaned, pleading with her mind for any more fragments of information.

Memories of last night crept slowly into mind. Varnish from the newly polished floor, balmy late summer night's air, pouring in through the half-open window, footsteps outside, yelling as the SWAT team issued their final warning, then the breaking down of the door. His hand in hers. He had been shaking slightly. The scent of her own fear, the sound of both their ragged breathing, thundering heartbeats. Then last words. Last kiss.

'_I'm sorry.'_

Then – prick – shot of tranquiliser to the arm and Starling had been down in ten seconds flat. She remembered the last look in his eyes, the unfathomable sadness there. Then all had passed into darkness. Her hearing outlasted her vision. Starling could distantly remember a gunshot before she passed out completely. The memory spurred action in her current state.

Starling opened her eyes.

It was immediately apparent from her surroundings that she was in some sort of hospital. The room was private, no other patients around. The window showed dark sky and city lights. Doctors leaned over her, none of them the doctor she wanted to see. Their proximity alarmed Starling. She started to shake again, eyes not quite focussing, but then she spotted a familiar face among the five strangers.

"Clarice!"

The swell of emotion Starling felt, at seeing her old friend again surpassed even her own expectations. She had honestly no idea how much she had missed Mapp until she was right there in front of her. The occasional pangs of longing for her old academy buddy and housemate were nothing, paled even, in comparison to this surge of joy.

"Delia?" the words didn't quite come out. Just a whimper and one syllable, but Ardelia Mapp understood.

The pair embraced in a bone-crushing hug that caused a slow rush of pain – dulled perhaps by painkillers – through Starling's shoulder. She ignored it, however, and buried her face into Mapp's neck. Warm skin, familiar warm body against hers. She couldn't quite believe that the arms being thrown around her were Ardelia Mapp's arms; the body of the woman pushing aside two doctors and three nurses was Ardelia Mapp's body. It had been so long. She drew her head back to meet Mapp's gaze. Yes. Those eyes filing with tears of unspoken relief were Ardelia Mapp's eyes.

Starling choked back more tears, wishing for words that refused to come from her raw and tortured throat. Mapp suffered from no such loss of speech.

"Hey kid, it's me, it's me. You're going to be okay, hon, the doctors are great here. The FBI got you this room and the best doctors around, I swear, you're gonna be okay. I swear." She took Starling's face between her hands and swooped in to kiss her tear-streaked face. "I promise you're gonna get better. You've just gotta be strong right now, don't panic or nothing, okay? You with me, Starling?"

The reuniting was nothing short of dramatic. Tears and mucous mixing, shaking fingers searching out slightly time-changed features, the pair rejoiced in one another's company. Starling's brain, unable at the moment to process her pain over losing her lover and her joy at reuniting with her friend, gave completely over to joy. For a few moments, she was purely happy again. Memories flashed past; their history together laying itself out like film-reel across Starling's mind in a matter of seconds. Tumultuous emotion rocked her and she began to cry again.

Her fingers ran across familiar cheeks to the ends of hair she used to be assigned to straighten on countless occasions, dates, meetings, nights out on the town. Mapp's long hair was cut short now and seemed straighter than it had been before – perhaps chemically relaxed. Starling sniffed back her running nose and laughed, running her fingers back along to Mapp's neck and pulling her back into another hug. Her friend looked different. Three years had done little to change her face, but the makeup and new haircut had sharpened her features. And the line of worry and weariness around her eyes spoke of premature aging due to stress. She looked older than three years should have made her.

"Ardelia?" she asked again, this time the words forming more like proper English words.

The doctors that had been taking her blood pressure and checking her pulse around their embraces had now retreated from the pair, muttering assurances to one another and to Mapp.

"Five minutes." Said one of the nurses to Mapp, patting her shoulder "Then they need to check her over properly, okay?"

"Ten minutes?"

The nurse smiled at Mapp and Starling wondered whether they had made friends, while Mapp had been waiting for her to recover in the ICU.

"I'll see what I can do." Seemingly so.

The nurse swished off, closing the door carefully behind her. Mapp turned back to Starling, whose brain was fast approaching overdrive.

Joy had begun to fade into worry as the reality of her situation began to become apparent. And the sound of that gunshot – from her memory of last night – was echoing in her head. Reeling from the events happening around her, Starling grasped Mapp's hand and attempted to speak again.

"Did…" her voice crackled.

"Water," Mapp handed her some in a polystyrene cup "drink it down."

Starling did as she was told, unable to face more than half the cup without the threat of more vomiting. She set it down after a minute and tried again to speak.

"How long has it been? What happened?" words came easier this time, though her throat still throbbed. "The raid, did they…?" she felt her heart falter slightly at the expression of apprehension on Mapp's face.

Starling knew, even in her half-drugged state that she couldn't let the truth slip. She couldn't let them know. Lecter had drugged her to ensure her innocence in the situation. If she acted worried about his welfare, it rather intimated the truth. But god be damned if she was going to sit in the dark on this one. Starling reminded herself to temper her words, however. She had always been logical, but when matters of the heart came into play, there was no telling what a woman in love might say. Starling swallowed.

Ardelia Mapp looked away.

""It's been three hours, it's half one in the morning. You've been out for most of it. The first time they tried to wake you, in the ambulance, you got panicky and ruptured your wound so they put you back under till you got your stitches." Mapp stopped and looked up, eyes nervous. "Honey, I'm sorry."

"Sorry, sorry for what?" Starling felt the words come out too fast, but she needed an answer. Sorry for what, is he dead? "What happened? Ardelia!" Was Hannibal Lecter dead?

Lecter dead. Even the words caused her heart to numb a little. They sounded surreal. What would she do? How would she react if the next words out of Mapp's mouth were 'they couldn't revive him'? Starling doubted that even her best acting could prepare her for that one. The truth would out.

She held her breath as Mapp replied.

"Clarice, baby, during the raid, they…" Starling's breathing became shallower as Mapp's throat twitched nervously. "They got two rounds off, that's how your shoulder was grazed. And the point man got Lecter." Starling's heart faltered. Mapp squeezed her shoulder supportively. "Hon, he pulled through. I don't know how he did, but he pulled through."

Starling let out a strangled moan.

Relief had flooded her body. She realised, in a rush, that all her muscles had been clenched, held tensed, praying for those words. Her breathing grew in volume, first shaky then into great gasps. She was practically choking to catch her breath. Then, in a culmination of running nose, tearing eyes and shaking body, Starling began to cry. Not sobs like before, but earnest, body-racking wails with her hands covering her face. Mapp enveloped her in a hug, pulling her in and holding her crushingly close to her thin chest. Starling gulped in air, trying to calm and stop her mind rushing away with itself at what seemed like a billion miles per hour.

"I'm so sorry, Clarice. I wish to god that bullet had been higher – straight through the heart, or at least severed the artery in his leg properly. He just got lucky."

Starling swallowed back tears, trying to regulate her breathing. It felt strange, that she and Mapp were talking about the same outcome – Lecter's survival – and crying for opposite reasons.

"How was he injured?"

Starling was very aware she had to tread carefully in this department. Too little and she was suspicious, too much and she ran the risk of looking like she cared.

"Got him in the leg with the first shot. Then they got your shoulder when they got him in the side." Mapp shook her head, seemingly disappointed. "One kidney and a spleen down. Unfortunately, the bastard can live just dandy like that."

The stark look of hatred on her face when her best friend talked about Lecter hurt a bit. On the other hand, the hatred was caused by Mapp's love for her. True friendship. Starling freed her hand from Mapp's and wiped her friend's cheek free from the tears that sat there. She knew what to say.

"It's okay, Ardelia." She whispered through the sniffs.

Starling could see insecurity, lurking behind the bravado on Mapp's face. Tension lines knotted her brow and Starling reached out again to smooth them. You are me, she thought, with a bit of sadness. She brushed a few strands of short hair back from Mapp's face. You are me, seeking approval, blinded and blinkered to the only world you know. You only see the world you have been raised to see, the world you have been taught to believe in. You follow the rules you believe are based on fidelity, bravery and integrity without question. You are me, before I learned to see, she thought. And so, Starling knew what to say to please her.

"You found me." She whispered.

These simple words of praise were all Mapp seemed to need. Relief flooded her face and Starling was pulled into another hug. The injured woman hung on, glad her face was out of sight because tears had begun to fall again, quite unbidden from sore eyes. Her mind turned back to Lecter. He had been shot. But he was alive. She repeated it to herself, mouthing the words because she longed to say them out loud. He was_ alive_. Alive long enough to take the stand and face the death penalty.

Starling felt another tear fall.

They had both known what awaited them, should they ever be caught. Starling had always assumed that he would stand by his word and die before he let himself be caged again. But Lecter had thrown that one on its head. To drug her and use her as a body shield – to pretend she was being held hostage – he had needed to be alive. To free her beyond reasonable doubt from blame, he had to sacrifice his suicide pact. His freedom for hers. The decision had been Lecter had clearly known for a long time. There had been no falter in his hand when he took the gun from her, Starling still assuming it was to be placed against his temple. He had also had the foresight to secrete the syringe up his sleeve, where she wouldn't see it. (She would have never agreed to the plan and he knew it). He even had words for as he held her, falling into unconsciousness in his arms.

'_Aš myliu tave, little Starling, fly free'._

Three years together. Just three years. Starling felt her body convulse against Mapp's in a tell-tale sob. Those three years had been the most beautiful, pleasurable, enlightening years of her life. Never perfect – but so close she had to pinch herself sometimes, just to remind herself that it was not a dream. Tears slipped into the crease between her lips and she tasted salt as they parted in a gasp. Starling had known for a while now that he would die for her. But to live, caged… Starling shivered. He had given her the most precious gift he had to give.

And now he was gone.

Half of her wanted to break down, to admit everything there and then. A man should never have to stand on front of a court and be convicted of a crime he did not commit. Hannibal Lecter may have done many terrible things, but of this 'crime' he was innocent. The only way he had captured her was willingly, his only hostage; her heart. But to give herself up would be going against the doctor's wishes.

'_Some birds are never meant to be caged, Clarice'._

The words rang double meaning in her head now. It had been what he said to her, when the last discussed what they would do in the even of their re-capture. At the time, she had assumed that the doctor had been referring to himself. Not so.

Starling closed her eyes. They stung. She was so dehydrated, from her last while spent unconscious, that her tears had run dry.

"Shh," Mapp whispered against her shoulder. "You're gonna be okay. You're free now."

Starling tightened her eyelids.

'_Aš myliu tave__… fly free'._

He was not the bird. She was.

.

One last tear rolls down Clarice Starling's cheek and she clings to Mapp like a drowning man to a life vest. One last barrier against the cold depths of the unknown. Outside the hospital room, a medic stands, watching over events with a sad expression on his face. He holds a slip of paper and, printed on it, one of the few circumstances that can make the situation more complicated than it already is.

Starling knows none of this yet. All she knows is that her world is slowly falling apart, and that one of the two people she loves is crying because the other was still alive.

In a second facility, only five miles away across town, Dr Lecter lies in an equally white hospital bed in a high-security ICU room. His room looks much the same as Starling's. The rooms are beige painted and the trim white around the border of the door and windows. The white blinds in Lecter's room let in thin streams of yellow moonlight that fall across an empty white cabinet. Flowers rest on this cabinet in Starling's room and in the chair beside it, Mapp sits, watching her best friend sleep. There is no chair in Lecter's room, for obvious reasons. Even if there had been one, there would have been no one to sit in it.

The two rooms are very similar indeed. Floors are both linoleum white. Lights, strips of artificial sun, glow unobtrusively beneath pale shutter-shades. Beds, white metal framed, both have sheets of neutral colour. Outside both windows, the night sky is the same shade of inky blue. In fact, the only notable difference between the rooms is their occupants. While both lie back in their beds, staring up at the ceilings above them, Lecter is not as dehydrated as Starling. He still has some tears left.

.


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18 – Three days_

_._

It was fairly early in the morning, about six o' clock and there was a ghost of a chill in the air. Vale was standing on the edge of a large farm complex, surveying the scene before him. He checked the address on the paper in his hand and looked around at the farm again. It was quiet and devoid of any human life. A bark near the back of the property put him more at ease and he crumpled up the paper and shoved it in to his back pocket. He nodded at his companion, signalling that they should progress towards the main farmhouse.

"So is it true then?" the young man standing behind Vale piped up.

Vale chose to ignore the question.

His young companion was a trainee agent, halfway through his time at the FBI Academy after a University degree. He had been sent to Mapp's boss, Hodgins, for some remedial fieldwork experience. Hodgins had pawned him off on Mapp and Mapp had pawned him off on Vale. Mapp was still at the hospital. It had been three days since the raid and Lecter's capture. Starling was due to go home today and Mapp wanted to be there, so Vale was left with the trainee. The agent yawned and tried not to think about the hour of the day.

The thought of the FBI Academy kid tagging along had been one he had originally seized with enthusiasm. He was pleased to get to play the older, wiser agent for once. The vision in Vale's head had been of him imparting wisdom as he drove along, windows rolled down on his black Navigator truck. Late summer's day, hot sun, maybe stop for a burger or something after an easy mission, interviewing some witness on their new case. They would finish eating and the younger guy would say something a bit naïve and he would just laugh and use a line he had wanted to use since he was ten; 'you're okay, kid'. Vale smiled. It had been a good vision. It finished with them completing their favour to Mapp with infinite ease and rolling up into the FBI car park. The kid would get out the car first, carrying their prize, and then Vale would follow more slowly. He could imagine the look on Mapp's face. They had been searching for this for two days – and he had found it. She would be pleased. She might even hug him.

"Is it, sir?"

Vale snapped back to reality.

"Huh?"

Taking the older agent's silence for not hearing him, the trainee had asked the question again, this time a bit closer to Vale's ear and several decibels louder. Vale shook his slightly ringing head, throwing the rather distracting daydream to one side. It hadn't really turned out the way things were in his vision. The trainee was more of a mop-haired excuse of a kid. Vale expected even remedial fieldwork experience wouldn't help him graduate.

Ignoring the kid's question for a second time, Vale set off down the dirt track path towards the main building of the farm complex. The trainee scampered after him, skidding down it in a slightly less than adept manner.

"Oof!" Vale looked over his shoulder, noting the cloud of dust the younger man had disappeared into. "I'm okay, I'm O-kay!"

Vale shook his head and increased the length of his stride. They walked up to the front porch, climbing steps that whose layers of once-white paint were peeling back in strips.

"So, is it true then, sir - what they're saying about Clarice Starling?" the kid asked, yet again.

Vale glanced sideways as the trainee bounced up onto the porch beside him, still slightly dusty from his tumble down the embankment. He gave the younger man an appraising look.

The question the kid was asking was one Vale wasn't quite ready to answer yet. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. Technically, the answer was classified. Whatever had, or had not, happened between ex-Agent Starling and Hannibal the cannibal was never supposed to have left the interview room. But rumours had escaped to the press via a few loose-tongued SWAT agents, only hours after Lecter's recapture. There had been no stopping it after that. Overnight, Starling's plight had become front page news and a few more offences were added to the infamous doctor's rap sheet.

Though the information was out, Vale kept his mouth firmly shut. Mapp would kill him if he was overheard to be gossiping at her friend's expense. He settled, instead, for a non-committal answer.

"Don't go listening to all the rumours flying about HQ" a tight smile, would hopefully indicate to his trainee that the subject was no longer up for discussion. "Half the stuff people talk in that place is complete bull."

Vale led the way to the front door of the farmhouse, before the trainee could restart the conversation. He pressed the doorbell and glanced sideways at his tagalong who was busy adjusting his tie and flicking back shaggy blonde hair from his face. Even in jacket and suit pants, this kid looked like he had rolled in straight off the beach. Vale frowned. Standards were clearly slipping in the recruitment department.

There was a silence, as they listened for the doorbell. No sound came when they tried the button again, so Vale tried knocking instead. His fist connected with the door in a wholesome deep wood sound which echoed through the house. It was closely followed by a volley of barking from the back garden and a shout from inside the house.

"One second!"

Vale took a polite step backwards from the door and shoved his hands into his pockets, taking in the farm again as he waited. Beside him, the young agent was fidgeting with his waistband, clearly unused to wearing a badge there. He glanced at Vale sideways and Vale saw his mouth start to open again. Then close. Clearly, he was considering whether or not to pursue his quest for gossip on the Lecter-Starling case. Vale avoided his gaze. He turned his attention, instead, to a small wooden plaque near the doorbell, inscribed with the message '_Happy Paws Dog Sanctuary and Adoption Centre'._

"Sorry – just a sec!" A female voice echoed from inside the house.

Banging noises indicated someone making their way downstairs.

"No problem, take your time, miss."

Padding feet along the hall. Bare feet on wooden panel flooring.

"Good morning, officers."

The door swung open to reveal a young woman, dressed in a pair of blue cut off dungaree shorts and a cropped pink t-shirt that showed off a fair stretch of flat golden abdomen. In fact, enough abdomen for Vale to note that her navel was pierced with a golden stud. He quickly wrenched his gaze up off the smooth curves of her toned golden belly and onto her face. There was no lack of beauty there either, he noted. The young woman beamed out at the two men, perhaps aware that she had caught them off-guard with her youthful beauty.

"We're not police, miss."

"Well then, boys, what can I do for you this morning?"

Another beaming smile which threatened to please Vale a little too much for propriety. He cleared his throat and fished in his jacket pocket for his badge. Regulating the many responses that sprang to mind at her question, he replied with a polite;

"Were with the FBI, miss. We're trying to requisition something on behalf of the state." He flashed his badge, feeling the young trainee beside him to do the same. "We need to ask you some questions."

"Uh huh…" the young woman smiled."This is a dog kennel, fellows," she flashed a row of perfectly straight white teeth.

Vale marvelled slightly, thinking back to the farm girls of his youth, and how unlikely their teeth were ever in such good repair. Turn of the century, he thought, with a smile.

"Yes, miss, we are aware of that."

Vale's young companion stepped forwards, eager to take part.

"It's a personal errand for a witness in a current case. Can't specify too much, miss, I'm afraid."

The girl frowned.

"So how can I help?"

"We're trying to find a pup that was dropped off at the local dog shelter, after being remanded as evidence in a multiple homicide trial." The trainee explained, his voice important.

"Multiple homicide?" the girl's voice touched up two notches, intrigued.

Vale tilted his head slightly. What was it was about serial murder which turned girls on so much?

"Yes, miss." The trainee agent stepped a bit closer, "but, as I said before, we can't really say much more on that."

The young woman laughed, eyes flashing in the early morning light.

Vale decided that the Academy boy shouldn't get all the fun.

"Thanks, Mr Jackson, I'll take it from here." He stepped forwards, throwing the young woman an easy smile. "As Jackson has explained, the dog is needed for a murder case."

"For the witness." The trainee agent butted in.

"The dog's a witness?" asked the girl, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Vale shot his young companion a cautionary glance. "The dog _belonged_ to a witness. The bureau was misinformed that the dog was to be sent to a local dog shelter. But the witness now wants the dog back. It is a minor matter, but we regard requests of civilian witnesses with upmost importance." Vale gave the young woman his best charming smile. "It's a very complicated official business, miss."

"I'm sure." She smiled back, the flash of her eyes in the morning light directed at him this time. Warming.

Vale pushed his badge back into his pocket.

"The dog was reported to be transported out to this kennel a couple weeks ago." He pulled out the piece of paper with the address and a few scrawled notes, the paper Mapp had given him last night, when she had asked him to do this favour for her. "It is a… Golden retriever puppy, little fluffy thing." He squinted at Mapp's chicken-scratch writing, managing to make out one more detail "A couple months old."

The young woman sent the two men a beaming smile.

"Little retriever – got her in just two days ago. The local pound thought we stood a better chance at re-homing her. Cute little bitch."

She turned and made her way inside.

They followed her through the front door and down the hall, into the kitchen situated at the back of the house. It was a big, wholesome farmhouse kitchen, with a stove, fridge and large oak dining table. Family photos hung on the wall. Vale turned his attention to the back window. A compound of wire mesh and wooden dog crates was visible from their current position. He strained his eyes, but couldn't pick individual dogs out among the throng of wagging, barking bodies. He looked back to the woman.

"Help yourself to a drink if you fancy one." She motioned towards the great white fridge. The young kennel worker grinned and padded over to the table, where she flopped down and began to pull on chunky farmyard boots. "There's pancakes I made earlier – always make too much – and I think there's some lemonade if you dig deep enough." Another beaming smile "Help yourselves to anything. I'll run round the back and bring the pup through."

"And there'll be a fee?"

"Fifty – we gave her all her shots and that also covers her first week of meds."

"Meds?"

"She's got a iron deficiency."

Vale winced and dug in his pocket for his wallet. Paying for a dog with anaemia – the things he did on a goddamn favour!

"I'll be back in five."

The young woman trotted past them, brushing Vale's arm as she headed out the door. She bounded out through the screen kitchen door and strode off towards the kennels. Vale and the Academy kid watched her smooth curves rise and fall as she bounced up the path. Vale was faintly aware he shouldn't be watching. The young woman must have been eighteen at most. He frowned slightly to himself. Only eighteen. When did that become wrong? He was twenty seven, but still felt nineteen at heart. Vale sighed. When had he grown older – where had all the years gone?

"I don't even get why we're searching for this dog anyway." The young blonde agent yawned widely.

"Favour for Mapp." Vale replied shortly.

"Oh, Mapp…"

Vale glanced sideways at his young companion.

"And what exactly do you mean by that, Mr Jackson?"

"Nothing, man, nothing." The kid grinned and gave a crooked smile.

Vale wondered vaguely if the young man was trying to identify with him, using sexual innuendo

"Good. Let's keep it that way, Mr Jackson."

"Yes."

"Yes… what?"

"Yes, sir."

The girl came trotting back in a few minutes, with a young dog straining at the end of its leash ahead of her. It was just below knee level and fringed all around in bounteous straggly golden fluff.

Vale remembered his own dog, from his childhood. It hadn't been quite as aesthetically pleasing. A hound-like creature, if he remembered correctly. Probably a mutt his father had picked up, from a friend's litter. Ugly old brute it had grown into, as well, one ear ripped half-off a couple years before Vale had gone off to join the army. He smiled. 'Bam', the dog had been called – simple name, probably because of his childhood speech impediment.

"So, this is Gil then?" asked the trainee.

"Looks like a golden retriever puppy to me." Vale replied, pulling fifty out of his wallet.

"Here we go." The girl bounded up and let the puppy run up and jump against Vale's knees.

He handed her the money then crouched to pat the animal, writhing and licking at his knees. It gave excited little whimpers when he put his face down to it and Vale found himself smiling a bit too much for the good of his own masculine reputation. He cleared his throat and stood up, nodding to the young kennel worker.

"We'll take it."

.

"It's the wrong damn dog!"

"I checked with the woman at the kennel, it's the right dog!"

The two FBI agents glared at one another across one panting, quite pleased, but unfortunately also quite female golden retriever puppy. Vale turned and placed the young dog on the formica FBI table. They were in a private interview room, one currently not in use by any investigation. Mapp closed the door, with a glance to the hallway first, checking no one had noticed them slip inside.

"It's a goddamn bitch, Vale, you moron!"

Today couldn't have gone more disastrously if Mapp had tried. She had to leave Starling at home for the first time since she arrived back, just to sort this out. She had promised to come home with the damned dog and now this! She watched Vale pace around the table. Beside him, the puppy skittered after his moves, pattering her paws with excitement at the turn of events. Mapp reached over and shoved the puppy back to the centre of the table. It was bad form to let infant animals fall to their deaths, even if they were the wrong infant animals.

She sighed.

"It's the wrong dog. Gil is male. I wrote it down."

"Not on the paper you gave me." Vale insisted.

"Yes I-"

He pulled out the slip of paper that she had handed him the previous night and shoved it into her hand.

"No. You didn't."

Mapp's eyes slid to the paper.

"Address… here we go… Golden retriever, golden-yellow colour, fluffy, brown eyes, fourteen weeks, so that's three and a bit months…" she screwed up her eyes as she read onto the part of the note which had devolved into chicken-scratch writing. "um…"

Okay, so maybe Vale had not really failed her.

"See." Vale muttered, a tad darkly.

Damn. She had been in such a hurry. Squinting really close, she could pick out 'male' and 'answers to Gil'. Damn. Unfortunately, anyone other than her reading it, would never be able to read her scribblings.

"Damn."

Vale opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

"Don't say a word…" she groaned and flopped into the nearest chair. "Shit, Vale, I was so sure I wrote it." Mapp swore again and rubbed her face with one hand.

She was so damn tired. So tired. She hadn't been this exhausted since their final year training at the Academy, at exam time. Starling had been up most of last night, and Mapp hadn't wanted to sleep while her friend was pacing around the hospital room.

Vale sat down across from her, at the table and lifted the puppy into his lap. Wrestling with it gently, he let it paddle around and jump up against his chest with over-large paws.

"Yes you're cute, yes you are."

Mapp looked up to see Vale whispering to the animal. Mapp felt a smile twitch her lips.

"Come on, she is a little cute." Vale looked up and, while appearing slightly guilty. He cleared his throat, which made Mapp smile again.

"Listen, thanks for going to get him, Ben. I know you're real busy."

Mapp had used his first name - something she rarely did - and his eyes had lit up for a second. Mapp swallowed. For just a moment, Mapp had seen a bit deeper than he probably intended her to ever see. She looked away, trace of a smile still on her face. Glimpsing another's most intimate secrets was often more disturbing than helpful. But it gave her a rush of pleasure to know that her kind-of crush was not completely un-reciprocated. Still, she could never act on it. They were no longer working on the same case, but their paths would be crossing for the duration of the Lecter trial. It would be unprofessional.

Mapp fiddled with the cuffs of her shirt.

Vale cleared his throat in a manly fashion, overcompensating for his earlier baby-talk.

"No problem."

"So," Mapp looked up to meet his eyes. Moment over, she needed to steer the conversation swiftly on. "What are we gonna do with this one?"

Vale raised the pup to his face level and it squirmed, blinking big deep brown eyes before letting out a happy pant and trying to lick his face. Mapp didn't like dogs, not particularly. But she had to admit, the pup was kind of cute.

"Don't know. It's a bit of a sad story, really. The kennel girl said she had some deficiency thing – that's why the pound sent her to them. They didn't have the funds to spend on dog medicine. She only had a week or so, and if she wasn't adopted in that time they would have to put her down."

"There is a distinct whiff of 'not our problem' in the air, Vale."

He gripped the dog and said nothing, but Mapp spotted a tell tale expression loitering in his eyes. Something protective. She sent him an appraising look.

"Come on, you're not seriously thinking about keeping it, are you?"

"Well, I did pay fifty dollars…"

Mapp rolled her eyes.

"Why not?" his voice grew in strength, grasping at his argument. "She needs a home and it's not like I have a shortage of room. Plus, dog medicine can't be that expensive."

He put the puppy back on the table and it skittered back towards him, trying to gain purchase on the slippery surface with tiny puppy claws. All very cute, thought Mapp, but the situation was very soon going to devolve into the infant dog relieving itself on the floor and causing a lot more havoc than Vale probably had anticipated. It took a woman to foresee these things, thought Mapp.

"It's a stupid idea." She warned.

"Why?"

"Because there ain't a hope in hell you can take care of a young puppy and have a full time job."

"I can make the time."

"Vale…"

"I can call her Gil, the second."

"Vale!"

"Come on, 'Delia, we've gotta save her. It's death row for her if she goes back to that place." Vale pulled a mock-sad face.

"It's just a dog."

"Just a – don't listen, puppy." He covered the infant dog's ears as it wiggled around enthusiastically on the table on front of them. "Think of it as our good deed for the week. She can be our karma puppy!"

"I don't like the sound of this 'our'."

"I might need a puppy sitter."

"Well you'll have to check the yellow pages, because I don't scoop dog shit." Mapp rolled her eyes. "Just get rid of it while you still can. It's the best idea. Didn't the adoption place said they'll give her a week to get adopted?"

"Who wants a dog that needs medicine?" his face was serious now. "No one will want her and then they'll give her the needle."

Mapp sighed.

"You can't save them all, Vale."

"Aw, come on," he turned the pup around and slid her out across the table towards her. Mapp couldn't help but grin slightly as the puppy gave a confused whimper and her legs started to splay outwards at odd angles, quite unable to stay upright on the slippery surface. "Look at that face," Vale grinned, catching her eye and sending her a swoop of pleasure "you can't resist that face."

Mapp fixed her ex-partner with a serious expression.

"I'm more of a cat person."

"She's adorable; you just don't want to ruin your ice-queen rep." Vale leaned in, pretending to talk to the puppy. "Agent Mapp likes you, really. She just don't want to look like a mere mortal among us lowly beings."

Mapp chuckled again.

"Hey – um – _ice queen_?"

"Yeah," Vale shot her a grin "You've got some serious rep cultivating down in the locker rooms."

"Well it's nice to know you guys talk about me when you're in the shower."

Vale's expression froze for a moment and Mapp felt suddenly unsure. Had she gone too far? Then the moment passed and Vale rolled his eyes at her.

"The pup's cute, Ardelia. Maybe Clarice won't mind she's not the right one."

Mapp shook her head, glad to be back on-topic.

"I'm only fetching the dog in the first place because it is the only good thing that's happened to her over the past three years. It's Gil she wants, not any old mutt. I don't know why she wants a reminder of…" Mapp cut herself off, realising Vale might be uncomfortable talking about her friend's 'ordeal'. She cleared her throat and started up again. "It has to be Gil."

There was a moment's silence.

"How is she?"

"She's surviving." Mapp shrugged. "She's a survivor."

"Like you."

Mapp flicked an eyebrow.

"She's about ten million times stronger than me."

"Nah, I don't believe that."

"Well, it's true." Folding her arms, Mapp leant back in her seat. "She's been strangely normal since she's been back."

"Normal?"

"I mean, not normal, she's crying like crazy the minute she thinks I'm not listening, but she's handling far better than I ever would."

"Handling." Vale blew out a heavy breath. "Don't see how anyone can be handling after..." he trailed off, glancing sideways at Mapp. "He's a bastard." Vale whispered softly.

Mapp nodded in reply.

"More than anyone ever managed to describe. I remember Starling saying once, that she thought he would never come after her, that he would think it rude." she shook her head. "Guess she was wrong, huh?"

Vale looked away, back to the dog.

Mapp paused for a moment, then the words she had wanted to ask for days, came pouring out.

"Why her - why did they send her in to see him that day? Why did he latch on to her; why her?"

"Life's just like that, Ardelia." Vale replied, cautiously, "Wrong place, wrong-"

"Don't 'wrong time' bullshit me, Vale!"

"It wasn't her fault."

Angry, Mapp's voice rose a few octaves.

"I damn well know it wasn't her fault. Its just when your best friend is kidnapped and raped by a serial murderer, you just..." she closed her eyes, breathing for a few moments to try and control the rage that was surging through her. "I just need answers."

A few minutes passed, and Vale played with the puppy on the tabletop, giving her the appropriate time to think things over.

"The rape kit was positive?"

Mapp nodded.

"And the pregnancy test?"

"She's nearly three months."

Vale chewed his lip.

"Has she said anything about it?"

"No. But who wants to talk about that, right?" Mapp scratched at her elbow, trying to distract herself from the emotions running through her.

"She might, if you give her time. Or she might not. Either way, all you have to do is be there. You're her best friend. That's your job."

Mapp nodded.

"It just sucks. I feel so..."

"Helpless?"

Another nod.

"I hear that gets better with time too."

A wave of gratitude rode through Mapp's body, tingling to her fingertips. Thank you, Doctor Vale. She reached over and patted the table between them, still not sure if she was allowed to touch his hand. The puppy scrabbled towards her and attempted to lick her fingers, which she quickly withdrew, laughing.

"I'd better get this girl home."

"You'd better get a supply of newspapers on the way out. Try archives. I hear they're offloading old criminal files." Mapp's younger partner laughed and shook his head. She continued. "Thank you."

Mapp left him secreting the dog under his jacket, to sneak her back out through the big FBI building. She smiled slightly to herself, as she watched Vale walk off, squirming bundle of jacket under one arm and making a mockery of everything 'subtle' should be. He was doing it to make her laugh. He knew she was still watching. Sure enough, as he reached the end of the corridor, he looked back over one shoulder, to catch her reaction. She just shook her head and tried to hide another chuckle. He saw and nodded back. Dismissing him with a wave, Mapp turned and made her way down the other end of the corridor.

She had been telling Vale the truth when she said he couldn't save them all. Loss was an unfortunate by-product of life. Of course, her ex-partner already knew that. He had learned it far too young, on foreign desert sands; fighting and watching his companions die for a country that could never pay him back. It hadn't quite hit home for Vale yet, that bad things happened outside of war. He would learn soon enough. This was only his first year working Field in the Bureau. The words 'collateral damage' would become more familiar with each passing year. You could never save them all. Eventually, Vale would realise that. Still, part of her secretly hoped that he would keep the dog. Save just one.

Shaking her head, Mapp headed off down the corridor. Her schedule was stuffed full for the rest of the day. Two meetings, a debriefing and an interrogation awaited her this afternoon. And after that, she got to return home and try coax Starling to eat something more substantial than crackers and water. Then listen to her cry herself to sleep. Mapp sighed. Collateral damage was a phrase she knew well.


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19 - Three weeks_

_._

Deep inside the FBI headquarters, in yet another interview room, Starling wrapped her arms around herself protectively. Kept under FBI surveillance, for purposes of the Lecter trial, she had been told to stay in DC for the duration. Though, she thought bitterly, it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go. Some sweetness of sacrifice this was.

Starling knew she should feel grateful, for the freedom Hannibal Lecter's choice had granted her, but she couldn't quite do that yet. She felt trapped. Held, confined within the small, beige walls of the FBI debriefing room, her very breath felt measured. Her chest felt tight with nerves and tension. Starling tugged at her suit jacket. It felt wrong to be back inside a skin she had once shed. It didn't fit so well anymore.

Outside, someone walked past, high heels clicking across the linoleum floor. The movement drew Starling's eyes towards the door to the little square cell-like room. The only window out to the hallway was small and criss-crossed with wire mesh. A woman passed, glancing briefly at Starling through the glass before walking swiftly onwards. Their eyes connected for a brief moment and Starling could tell that the woman's walk past the room had been quite intentional. To get a look at her. Starling stopped scratching and rearranged her clothes, standing upright from where she had been leaning against the FBI standard-issue steel table. Over the last three weeks, she had been privy to the nosing of hundreds of people, the craning of hundreds of necks. They all wanted the same thing; to catch a glimpse of the year's most famous victim. 'Clarice Starling: hero or victim' she believed had been the Tattler's headline. Followed by a three-page spread dedicated entirely to her life and career's story. It had been quite a jolt, her fall back into the public eye. Starling knew she should try to acclimatise to the press's attentions, but she just could not bring herself to believe that this was how she now had to live.

Another pair of heels clicked by, but no one passed the window this time. Their owner must have gone into a nearby room. Starling began to nervously pace the distance between the wall and the table. Back and forth, back and forth. Five steps, measured exactly. Back and forth. She felt like she was in a jail cell. She glanced towards the glass window to the room, behind which agents would be seated, discussing her. Caged and watched through the glass; her situation was quite ironic.

"Clarice?" the door clicked open and Ardelia Mapp's head swung inside.

"Delia, thank god," she tried to say more, but Mapp cut her off.

"Clarice, I'm sorry hon, but we're gonna have to cut this short. There's a situation downstairs." Starling raised an eyebrow to enquire further, but Mapp just pulled a face. "Men with fancy titles on an ego trip," she shook her head. "Sorry, can't say much more – current case. We're gonna have to do this tomorrow. Hodgins is called out on this one too.

Starling nodded and folded her arms, looking away to hide her disappointment about putting off her official debriefing another day.

"Sure."

Sure, no problem, I'm fine; words that were fast becoming her mantra.

Mapp, about to leave, stopped herself. Starling tried to wave her off, but Mapp must have read the disappointment on her friend's face. She signalled whomever she was with, in the hall, that she would join them in five minutes. Slipping back into the room, she walked over to Starling and squeezed her shoulders. Starling tried out a smile and failed dismally, presenting something that more closely resembled a grimace and gave absolutely no connotation of happiness. Mapp returned her grimace with an equally inadequate smile.

"Hey, it'll be over soon enough, kid."

Starling let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah, tell that to my admirers." She motioned towards the one-way window on the opposite wall, the one she had her back turned studiously towards.

Mapp pulled another grimace.

"My spidey senses were tingling." Starling explained "Plus, they were kind of loud."

The two friends stood for a moment in silence. Three years. Three years apart and now they were together again. And there was a gap three years wide between them; a void that neither of them could bridge and that Starling couldn't fill. That void had a name too, but they never mentioned the name. Not _that_ name, not _his_ name. That was rule number one. Rule number two was to pretend they were both fine.

Mapp patted her shoulder.

"Hey. I've got to go, but I'll get you transferred downstairs. You can get your weekly talk with the psychotherapist over and done with while you're here. She said you can drop in today, right?" Starling nodded and pulled a face to indicate her distaste for the aforementioned, but Mapp chose to ignore her. "Pearsall also wants to know what's happening at the trial, so we need to outline your options soon."

Starling's mood made a sudden dive bomb with the mention of the trial.

"I'm not taking the stand, we've already discussed this." She spoke quietly, very aware of the nosy agents lurking behind the one-way mirror behind her.

Mapp's eyes slipped over towards them too and then settled back on Starling's face.

"That's up to you, kid, but you're gonna have to talk with Pearsall at some point, even if it's only to submit in your testimony. You're a material witness."

My testimony, thought Starling bitterly, and what's that worth? The tales of a self-preserving liar. She was wallowing, she knew that. Even in her head it sounded pathetic. But she couldn't bring herself to stop. A grey veil had fallen over her world and she wasn't strong enough to lift it. Not alone.

"I don't know if I can do this, Dee. I'm sorry. I know I'm being melodramatic and all, but I just don't think I can do it."

"Honey, after what you been through, you deserve a bit of drama. No one's judging."

"No one's judging?" Starling lifted an eyebrow. Anger reared its head, uncalled on. "Everybody's judging me!"

The words cut through the calm of the room like a knife. Mapp blinked and swallowed, looking away. Starling did the same. She had been too harsh, but anger refused to let her take the words back.

"I can feel them all judging, Delia, pitying and suspecting me..."

She wanted to scream and tear the room up, throw things aside and shatter them with her bare hands. She wanted to break the glass and show the people behind it an ounce of the pain and fear that was coursing through her now. But knew she should calm herself. The last thing she needed was to go to her appointment in a foul mood, snap and give the FBI 'psychotherapist' more ammunition against her.

"Hey,"

Starling looked up from the ground she had been glowering down at. The familiarity of Mapp's turn of phrase softened her frustration. She sighed.

"I feel them watching me, Dee. I hate it. I hate them." She sounded as hopeless as she felt.

"I know."

"And even if they don't say anything, I know that they _know._"

A silence passed between the friends.

"We've got to talk about that."

_That_… Starling pulled on a wry smile. It was such a small, dirty word for something that should give her joy. She hadn't been prepared for the doctors report. It had been late at night and the others had all gone home. Even Mapp had been absent – off to get coffee. The woman doctor had sat her down and told her she was two and a half months pregnant. A shell-shocked Starling had told her about what the London doctors assumed to be a miscarriage and learned that it was rare, but possible for women to menstruate during their first trimester. She also learned that ultrasounds were not always conclusive at such an early stages. The tears that began to pour down her face were response enough for the doctor who left, to 'give her some time'. No time in the world could heal what she was feeling.

Starling swallowed.

"I will talk to the doctor at my check-up on Thursday."

"You need to do it soon," Mapp stressed.

"I know, Ardelia." And the warning in her voice stopped her friend from pursuing the matter further.

Starling was uncomfortable broaching the subject. Especially because of the circumstances Mapp – and all others – assumed her to have conceived in.

Mapp sighed.

The two friends parted and Mapp headed off down the hall where another agent was waiting for her; a young man Starling had been introduced to as special agent Benedict Vale. He had apparently been instrumental in working the case that led to her 'rescue'. Starling tilted her head, watching as Mapp and Vale strode off together, heading for the elevator. Their paces almost exactly matched in length. Neither fell behind or ahead as they talked their way down the corridor. Something about the proximity with which they walked – almost undetectable unless studied closely – implied some closeness beyond the level of just work partners.

Starling felt a tiny stab of loss in the pit of her stomach. _Jealousy, Clarice?_ She pushed it from her mind but continued to watch the two agents as they stepped into the elevator together. Mapp was absorbed in voicing some injustice to her partner, but Vale noticed Starling watching as the doors of their elevator closed and gave her a small wave. She returned it politely, but felt that pang in her stomach again. Whether or not Mapp had noticed it yet, Starling got the feeling she was no longer Mapp's only best friend.

Mapp had promised an escort would come and take her to her psychotherapist appointment, but Starling felt unobligated to take her up on the offer. After all, she still knew this building like the back of her hand. Three years away did not erase her years spent busting her ass here and being chastised and ignored for all her work. The hallways and meeting rooms were all familiar – the layout of the upper three floors still completely unchanged. Even some of the names on the doors were the same. Now, however, she felt like a stranger in a world she once belonged. With a sigh, Starling abandoned the third floor corridor in search of the Human Resources department, and the in-house FBI psychiatrist.

The elevators were full of people who stared, so she took the stairs.

.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20 – Mendez_

_._

The interview room, as interview rooms tend to be, was small, stuffy and dimly lit. The theory, perhaps, being that the suspect would succumb to claustrophobia, confess and release the investigating officer early from his duties. In Starling's opinion, it was a good theory and one which seemed to be working. At least, working on the man she was currently watching; pale and shivering, behind two inches of bulletproof, mirrored glass.

"G'd morning, Agent."

A voice behind her caused Clarice Starling to start. Flicking her notepad fast-shut, she turned her head to see Benedict Vale make his way into the interrogation suite.

"Agent Vale," Starling relaxed slightly and drew a little smile "Hi."

"Mendez ready for that Guantanamo holiday I promised him?"

Starling turned to face the young man shivering behind the glass.

Two months back on the FBI payroll, the newly-reinstated Special Agent was now working alongside Vale in federal homicide. It had taken all her best negotiations to even allow the FBI to have her back, and she suspected they only did after her threat to go to the press about maltreatment. The old Starling would have winced at such unflinching use of special circumstances. The new Starling knew where she needed to be and what she needed to do to get there.

Her first days back were as traumatic as she had expected it to be. She had undergone a basic training course along with some new recruits. The training was a little tougher than it had been the first time around. Ten years or so had passed since she was a flexible twenty-three year old, but Starling had kept relatively fit. Keeping her head below the radar was even more difficult, especially with her hefty amount of press coverage. A few weeks on a crash course and she was handed back her badge, complete with full commendation from the Director. Mapp had decided to frame it and put it in her living room, alongside her own trophies and trinkets. Seeing it there made Starling feel distinctly guilty, but it served to remind her of her ulterior motive for being back inside the FBI. And, in sort of half-prayer, she whispered Hannibal's name to herself each time she passed it.

The powers that be, inside the bureau, had been loathe to send her back into field work and she he spent two months on desk duty, pending her retraining in FBI protocols. However, she soon managed to convince Pearsall – her one remaining contact within the managing hierarchy – to allow her to assist agent Vale. Starling felt a bit guilty about getting herself assigned to Vale. Since she had been, the pair of them had been shunted from one unimportant task to another. It was a carefully orchestrated operation. The FBI had a way of keeping Agents exactly where they wanted them. And where they wanted Starling right now was somewhere in sight, but out of any real danger. Their fervour for her 'protection' had gone so far as to restrict both her and Vale to running department background checks. And then... the Senator Woodley case.

Starling suspected that the Senator Woodley file had been handed to them as another dead-end case, to be closed quickly, quietly and out of the public eye. The story had seemed straightforward. Senator John Woodley's beautiful young wife had been killed in a tragic accident. A burglary, gone wrong. It was a simple case, just needing to be tied up. A few witness debriefings, some paperwork, and then the file would be placed in a neat brown box and stamped 'Closed' with red ink. It was a streak of good fortune for Starling and Vale that some new forensic evidence came to light, implicating the man now cowered at the interrogation table. Vale had led the SWAT team in making the arrest. Ianto Mendez was remanded in custody, pending trail for the rape and murder of Gabriella Woodley.

Suddenly, the case which was about to be closed was front page news. Though it was not career advancement that Starling was working towards now, the promotion from field work to such a high priority homicide pleased her greatly. Starling was back off desk duty, back into FBI headquarters and – more importantly – allowed back into the online network of current case files. One step closer to her objective.

Starling turned from the mirrored glass to look back at her file, considering the vast amount of variables that would have to go right for her forming plan to come to fruition. Her forming plan which had relatively little to do with the case she was actually on and a lot more to do with Hannibal Lecter and his current lodgings in maximum security prison.

"Ready to go in?" Vale had progressed across the room and pulled a keycard from his jacket pocket.

Starling nodded with a smile. Vale in a suit jacket and trousers felt like an analogy towards her present condition. Out of place and a little out of depth. They were both a new to this. He, freshly entering into the bureaucracy of the FBI, from the harsh reality of the Marine corps. And she, well... she had more than one high profile murder case resting on her shoulders. Starling fought to keep the pleasant smile on her face. It would not do to waver now, not when she had finally succeeded on getting back where she needed to be.

Vale gave her an easy smile, hiding his own nerves. This was the most important interrogation of his career.

"Okay, let's give him the fine treatment." he swiped the card and the passkey light flicked to green. "After you, Agent Starling."

Ianto Mendez did not look up from the table as the two Agents entered. His only move was to shake marginally more and grasp all the tighter onto his left ear with the hand that cradled his face. To Starling, Mendez looked like a man about to break in two. Vale made to sit across from him. Starling chose to remain standing. Two faces on his level looked like more than their prisoner could take at this moment in time.

"Mr Mendez, will you confirm, for the purposes of the tape that you are Ianto Juan Mendez, 28, of forty-two Hillcrest crescent?"

The man across the table from the two agents twitched violently, but did not reply.

"Mr Mendez, will you please respond for the tape."

Starling personally suspected that Mr Mendez would not hold up to much more interrogation. Despite how gentle Vale was taking it.

"Mr Mendez..." Vale's voice deepened, warningly.

"Y-yes. Yes, sir." the man lowered his hand from the side of his face, lifting perilously dark, mournful eyes towards Vale and Starling. "I am Ianto Mendez."

He looked younger than the twenty-eight listed in his file; the first thing Starling noted as she took in his full appearance, unhindered by glass for the first time. The second thing she noticed was the abject lack of fear in his eyes. It was slightly unsettling. Most often, she looked across that interview table into the eyes of young men, angry men - full of fear and hate. Today, she looked across and saw none. Starling frowned. If it was not fear that made Mendez shake, then what was it?

She maintained a neutral front, wondering if Vale had picked up on this interesting development. He hadn't seemed to. Vale flipped the folder he had been carrying open, to reveal forensic size close-ups of the Senator Woodley's late wife, blood spattered and very much dead, splayed across her Moroccan tiled floor. Mendez gave a terrible shudder and slid his hand back over his eyes, shielding his face from view.

"So, Mendez," Vale rearranged himself in his seat, "what can you tell me about Gabriella Woodley?"

Mendez began to moan from between his fingers.

Vale looked to Starling and flicked and eyebrow. Starling took a step closer to the table, pulled back her seat and sat down. She reached over and closed the file again. With the picture out of view, Mendez slowly uncovered his face, though his eyes remained unfocussed and his body shaky.

"Mr Mendez," Starling spoke up for the first time, keeping her voice soft. Mendez seemed fragile, a simple good cop bad cop routine could work as well as any. "Mr Mendez, we need all the information you have on the events surrounding the death of Gabriella Woodley. We know from your file you worked in the gardens around the Senator's property. We have forensic evidence that places you at the scene of the crime, and link you to the rape of Mrs Woodley." She kept her voice calm and steady. "The best thing you can do at this time is to come forwards and make all the information you have available to us. It might help with your sentencing."

Mendez lifted his eyes to hers and, once again, Starling felt another tiny flicker of confusion ball in her stomach. Despite her talk of sentencing, there was no fear in his gaze, only terrible sadness. Whether he was bemoaning his fate - a lifetime spent behind bars - or any emotions he had for the woman he killed, Starling could not tell. Starling shook off her unease. She needed to remain cool, calm and stay detached from the cases she was running. She was not here to ingratiate herself to the FBI directors. She was here to fulfil a purpose. She was here for the proximity to the FBI's network and case files.

"Mr Mendez?" Vale spoke this time, his voice coaxing.

Mendez looked on the verge of words.

"The only thing I know," the young Mexican spoke quietly, with a deep, cracked voice. "Is that I did not do this killing. I did not kill Gabriella." The woman's name played over his tongue like a prayer. "I am innocent, I swear this."

Starling sighed and leant back in her chair. She had heard those words a hundred times, across this interrogation desk. Innocent. Across the table, Mendez slumped forwards again, burying his face in once-more trembling hands. Beside her, Vale signalled towards the door. There was nothing more to be learned here, not today.

Outside, they ran into Pearsall and another FBI suit, waiting for the interrogation to finish. Pearsall gave Starling a curt nod as they emerged.

"Sir, I'm afraid he's remaining fairly uncooperative." Vale stood.

Starling noticed that when he talked to superior agents, he always stood the same way; hands by side and back poker straight, like he was back at Quantico and Clint Pearsall was his commanding officer. Old habits died hard.

"Fairly?" Pearsall grunted and motioned through the interrogation window towards Mendez, who had collapsed into a shivering lump atop the desk. "What do you mean _fairly_?"

Yes, 'fairly', thought Starling, was perhaps an overstatement. Pearsall, who had been pacing the suite like an agitated cat, had good reason to be agitated. The case was greatly in the public view, and Starling knew that the FBI directors would be breathing down Pearsall's neck for a smooth and quick outcome.

"The only confession you got out of him - or rather, Starling got out of him -" Starling looked politely away as Vale's jaw set a bit tighter "was that he thinks he was driving the jeep down to collect Woodley's wife's shopping at the supposed time of her murder. He _thinks_!" Pearsall swallowed, his large Adam's apple bobbing beneath the ruddy skin on his throat. Starling's superior fought for composure for ten seconds, and then launched back into his tirade. "That man can protest his innocence as much as he wants, but we damn well know his story is complete bull. We have incontrovertible evidence. GPS records state that all vehicles registered to the Senator's staff were on the property and had been there for a good half an hour before Mrs Woodley died. Including Mendez's Chrysler."

"Sir, is it possible that the GPS could have failed?" Starling piped up. She knew full-well that Pearsall wouldn't dare shout at her in front of the suits he had in tow. Not Clarice Starling, the FBI's most famous victim. Letting Starling rejoin the Bureau had been a public relations field day for the bureau. For once, the papers painted the FBI in something other than their usual morbid, drab colours. 'Fidelity, bravery, integrity personified' was one heading; 'True American Hero' another. (The Tattler, of course, had run with 'Sex dungeon', but you couldn't win them all).

Starling had no doubts that Mendez was involved in the Woodley murder. She did not think that the GPS could have failed. Her question had simply been to field some of Pearsall's frustration away from Vale. Pearsall grunted in response and shook his head, clearly reining back a more embittered retort, which he would have released on anyone other than 'True American Hero' Starling. He waved to the suits, indicating that they would be departing shortly and pointed towards Mendez, who was still shaking in the interrogation room.

"Vale, get him transferred back to the MCAC. You can have another crack at him tomorrow over there. We need this room in half an hour." Then he left, muttering something vaguely racist under his breath about Mexican gardeners.

As the door snapped shut behind him, Vale and Starling turned to one another.

"Well, he seemed pleased." Starling's attempt at making light of the situation failed to go down well.

Vale sulked off to the two guards on duty and silently filled out the transfer forms, releasing Mendez into police custody.

"Hey, Clarice, I need to take a walk up to drugs about another case,"

Starling supposed that seeing Ardelia up in the Drugs department would be an ulterior motive, but chose not to aggravate her already vexed partner.

"I can give you a ride back in about three hours." He checked his watch "Four, maybe. Sorry, I've got some loose ends to tie up. But I guess we've got some paperwork you need to catch up on anyway."

Starling gave an internal sarcastic cheer, but nodded to Vale.

"Sure. I have about two feet of it piled up on my desk. I'll see you at five."

While it bored her senseless, Starling wasn't about to complain. Being assigned paperwork duties gave her time, time that she dearly needed to do some investigations of her own. With her new security clearance, came a lot of information that she would have never been privy too down in Behavioural Sciences. Information that would serve useful in the weeks to come.

"When's your car out?" Vale asked, jerking her back to reality.

Starling's old Mustang was currently resided in the local garage, where it was being treated for a variety of problems, including neglect-induced damage to the trim - for which, Starling suspected, Mapp was not entirely innocent. The car was officially now a relic, but it had always been well cared for and with a bit of (rather expensive) tlc, Starling thought she might be able to make it roadworthy again. She was loathe to get rid of one of the few parts of her new old life which didn't suck.

"Thursday, but don't worry about it, Dee can give me a ride back tomorrow." She shot Vale a smile. "You won't have to put up with me tagging along for too much longer."

Starling had a pretty good idea that giving her a ride home to Mapp's duplex was no waste of time in Benedict Vale's mind. Sometimes he even took the time to walk her up to the door, pop in, have a drink... maybe say hello to Mapp. Starling smiled. Sure enough, at her words, the tiniest flicker of disappointment had crossed Vale's face. He quickly hid it, however, with playful bravado.

"Nah - don't worry, kid. It's not puttin' me out at all," he grinned "but when you get the 'Stang out, I'm expectin' a go round the block, you got that?"

Starling laughed softly. Vale was indeed younger than her, at times very noticeably, and still very boyish in his mannerisms. Despite some initial reservations, however, Starling was coming around to him. She had never been one to take to people quickly, or without good reason, but Vale struck her as an honest sort of guy. There was also the fact that Vale reminded her more than a little of John Brigham and, though she didn't quite want to admit it, a little of her father. Maybe it was instinctual solidarity. Maybe Vale was only one generation away from poor white trash too. The thought made Starling smile.

"That new engine setting you back much?"

"A coupl'a hundred." Starling rounded down, and added a grimace for posterity. Her perspective on money had changed slightly over the last three years, but she didn't want to let on about it. And she was hardly strapped for cash now, what with the FBI compensation she had received for her troubles under their employ and… other factors.

Vale gave a low whistle.

"Better kick like a bitch."

"Heh." Starling nodded. "Damn straight. Say, tell you what, Vale, you can be the first one to try it."

"You trying to kill me?"

"See you at six, Agent Vale."

"Six." Vale headed out, but paused in the doorway. "D'you get the brakes done too?"

"Yup. Cost more than my last paycheck."

"Still, nothing you can't afford now, what with..." Vale trailed off, looking slightly unsure whether he was allowed to joke about what he was about to say.

Starling forced a smile, though the mention of the money she had recently 'inherited' stung slightly.

While Vale had been drafted out, on to the Woodley case, Ardelia Mapp was still very much involved in the Lecter trial. She had recently been presenting evidence in court on Lecter's banking habits, where it had been discovered that all his assets had been transferred within an hour of his capture to an old bank account Starling had set up back in her student days. After careful and thorough examination of the legalities involved, the judges had ruled (perhaps taking the alleged suffering of one Clarice Starling, 'True American Hero' into account) that the transfer was legitimate. Lecter had been clever, working through loopholes. The courts fined the costs of the bank's investigation, and then turned over the rest of the substantial chunk of money to Clarice Starling - much to the Tattler's joy.

The courts were still contesting the ownership of the New York house, but Mapp said that it looked set to become Starling's also. Hannibal had distributed his other belongings wisely, and seemed to have made damn sure that, in the event of his incarceration, they would go exactly where he wanted them to. Over all, the government had only managed to seize two hundred and fifty thousand, which had been tied up in a savings account, and the furnishings of the New York house (much of which was still being held as evidence). At this point in the court proceedings, the judge had sworn violently and made some comment about Hannibal Lecter which kept the newspapers flying off the shelves for a few days.

As Starling watched Vale wave and walk off, a nervous twang emanated in her chest. The Lecter case was back in court today. The man himself had been in court this morning. Starling had declined the opportunity to go and watch the proceedings with Mapp. Her friend said she understood why. Mapp would be presenting her evidence tomorrow, as would Vale. Starling had seen her notes, prepared and rehearsed, sitting on her kitchen counter. Neither of her fellow agents had mentioned it, but Starling was sure Mapp would broach the subject tonight, in a last-ditch attempt to get her to come. Starling yawned, not at all looking forwards to that inevitable conversation.

She sighed and turned her attention to the file she still grasped in her hand; Ianto Juan Mendez. Tapping it against the mirrored wall, Starling frowned slightly. Mendez was puzzling her a bit. She knew from the insurmountable evidence that he had been present at the murder scene. It had been proven by DNA testing of seminal fluid found on Gabriella Woodley that Mendez had sexual intercourse her. Whether it was rape or co-sensual was going to be the subject of Mendez's next court date. The senator's wife had been a modelesque beauty and a generous philanthropist. Her murder had sparked indignation in the public. The police were all too willing to leap upon Mendez, when the forensic evidence implicating him came to surface.

Starling had noted an abject lack of alternative theories being thrown around. It was not that she doubted Mendez's guilt; all the evidence pointed towards him. But still... Starling could not shake some strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. There had been no fear on his face. No fear in those eyes. And the tears Mendez cried were not the tears of a guilty man.

Starling shook it off. She was on this case, after all, because it was high-profile and uncomplicated. She needed security clearance, access to the FBI intell network and a nice easy case to make her look occupied. She had more important things to be involving herself in right now than Ianto Mendez. With the sobering thought of her next few weeks' plans in mind, Starling held her folder closer. Then she made her way out of the interrogation suite and off towards her office.


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21 – Feel_

_._

While Starling's new case - straightforward arrest on solid forensic evidence - was a public relations dream, Mapp's was turning out less than satisfactory.

She was tired, angry and full of countless other grievances as she pulled into her part of Arlington. Most of her day had been spent in court, presenting evidence on the Lecter trial. On some mysterious plea, he had been absent from the stand – something Mapp was secretly grateful for. The doctor and the agent had yet to come face to face. Ardelia Mapp was not entirely sure how she would react when they did. The intense anger that had burned towards him, during Starling's kidnap, had not yet faded, even with her friend's return. A small part of her worried that she might launch herself across the witness box and try to strangle him, but the ironic little voice in her head told her that the security guards would shoot her before she harmed a hair on the convicted serial killer's head.

Turning into the street that housed her duplex, Mapp pushed her homicidal thoughts aside. She had always striven to keep bad thoughts away from her home. She knew she must compartmentalise to stay sane. Home was a place for warmth and family – not for the sort of things she dealt with at work. Nor anger, or murder, or Lecter, for that matter. Mapp tried not to bring it home, even inside her own mind. She knew plenty of homes which had been ruined by it. At thirty-five, now, her fellow agents were beginning to fall victim to that stereotype of the FBI Agent approaching middle age; distanced from their families and loved ones. The people they fought to protect could not understand the darkness they saw. The distance from their family pushed them back to work. It was a self-perpetuating circle.

Ardelia Mapp reigned in her bad mood.

Mapp spotted Starling's car as she pulled up to the duplex and her frown deepened. The Mustang was supposed to be in the shop to get a handbrake or an engine or something Mapp did not understand fixed. Starling had been hitching rides all week. Mapp's friend had told her that she wouldn't get the car back until Thursday. Clearly, plans had changed. Mapp inched her car further onto the driveway, careful to avoid Starling's panelling. The Mustang had been backed out of the garage and parked, rather haphazardly, across the entire concrete driveway. Half the bodywork shone, as if it had been washed and polished, while the other half was still marked with small specks of oil and mud, from the field it had been found in, on that fateful night over three years ago.

Mapp parked alongside the old 'Stang, taking care not to ding her mirrors. She stepped out of her rather more dishevelled ride and began to pick her way across their parched front lawn. Though she tried to stop it, as she made her way across the lawn her thoughts returned to work.

Two more days and Lecter would take the stand on his final day in court. The dates had been rushed due to the public nature of the case. If Lecter pleaded innocent, or was ruled insane, then they would be stuck in the docks for at least another six months. Mapp grimaced to herself. She hardly expected Lecter to bounce up on front of the judge, plead guilty and offer to prove his sanity through a series of psychiatric tests. But it was a sorry truth that, if he didn't do that, there would be no way he would get the death penalty. And there would be no way she could sleep easy. Anything less than a death sentence was, in Mapp's opinion, no justice for what he had done to her friend.

Her friend. Mapp snorted softly to herself. She and Starling were not exactly on 'friend' terms at the moment. An argument of earlier that day had solidified the growing unrest between them.

Mapp had gone down to Starling's basement office just after lunchtime. Starling, had spent the morning interviewing a suspect on another case she was running with Vale. When Mapp enetered, she was buried up to her nose in paperwork and not in the best of moods. With minimal build-up, Mapp had asked her to testify at the Lecter trial. Starling balked at the idea. 'Can't' was the word she had used. Over and over again. She _'can't'_ do it, _'just can't'_.

Mapp was not deluded, she knew it was going to be hard on her friend, but she honestly could not see why Clarice wouldn't consider taking the stand. Starling was so strong in every other aspect of her life. The Clarice Starling that Mapp had known, before Lecter, would have taken the stand. She would have done anything to send a guilty man down. Sometimes, when Mapp and Clarice were together - eating dinner, or watching a movie, or just complaining heartily about the FBI's dubious hot drinks - it seemed as if Starling had never left. She seemed just the same. Other times, like that moment, down in Starling's makeshift office, they just stared at each other like strangers.

When Starling had refused, Mapp had just looked away, then back again, fumbling for words.

"The Clarice Starling I know would want justice." She had eventually managed.

Starling had just sighed and turned away, back to her paperwork

"You can convict him without me."

"But it'll take much longer." Mapp moved had moved closer, then, taking a different tact. "Clarice, I get that it's gonna hurt right now, but in the long run this is best. If you don't, then you're gonna look back and wish you'd faced up to your demons."

Trying a guilt-trip on her friend had not gone so well.

"My demons?" Starling's face had twitched slightly, and for a moment Mapp thought she might be about to cry, but instead the corners of her mouth tightened in an almost snarl. "You don't know anything about my demons."

The comment had struck Mapp over the face like a hard slap. In a single moment, Starling had revealed just how distanced they had become. The bubble they had been living in since the re-capture had popped. Their friendship was slipping through its own fractures and it was all that monster, Lecter's, fault. Mapp felt a surge of pure and unadulterated hatred towards the man she had never met, but who had affected her life in so many ways. How could Starling not want to get revenge? If it was her, Mapp decided, she would march right over to the Maryland Correctional Adjustment Centre and strangle him in his cell. With her bare hands.

Mapp walked away from Starling's Mustang and up to her front door, digging hopefully in her pocket for keys. As she did so, she looked over to her right. The garage door was propped open, leading into Starling's half of the duplex. For a moment, Mapp wavered. She could go next door and face up to her friend, or she could lurk in her half of the duplex all night. Common sense won over. It was best to address the argument right away, not let the bad feelings fester.

Mapp hopped down her front steps and strode back across the lawn. Ducking beneath the creaky garage door, she walked the oil stained concrete, the noise of her footsteps slapping ghost-like on the walls. Near the back of the garage, a door opened into the laundry room of Starling's half of the duplex. Also open. Mapp slid through that door too, and then on through into the kitchen, where she tripped across the first sign of her friend; discarded sandals. She searched through the kitchen and living room for her housemate. No Starling. On through the hall to the bedroom. She called once. Still, no Starling. Mapp turned, noticing the bathroom door was closed. She paced over and knocked.

"Hey, Clarice?"

No answer. Mapp felt a ripple of caution ride through her nervous system. Starling wasn't the type to do something stupid… was she?

"Clarice?" Mapp tapped again.

Again no one answered. Mapp hammered on the door.

"Clarice, you in there, girl? You okay?" she twisted the handle, but it seemed locked. "Clarice!"

"God – yes – damn it, Ardelia, I'm in here!"

Mapp halted, fist mid-hammer.

"…Are you okay?"

A short silence, then;

"The door's open, come in."

"It's locked."

"They handle sticks. Wiggle it up first."

Mapp did so, and the doorknob turned freely. She pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside.

Starling was seated, cross-legged, in the empty bath, fully clothed with one of her sleeves rolled up to reveal a jagged gash on her forearm, near the elbow.

"What the hell?" Mapp sprung forwards and knelt by the side of the bath.

"It's okay," her friend started to speak, but Mapp overrode her.

"Sh… God, what the hell, Clarice? What'd you do, girl?"

"It was the car, Dee!" Starling's eyes flamed and Mapp, catching her friend's gaze, looked away. "Jeez… It was the catch on the hood. I thought it was oiled fine, but it was a bit rusty. Damn thing sprung back and got me. I was just too slow to get my goddamn hand out the way."

Starling wrenched her arm away from Mapp as she reached forwards to investigate the cut.

"Clarice… m'sorry."

Feeling a bit embarrassed, aren't we, thought Mapp to herself, cringing inwardly. It was a mark of how long they had been apart that she had even considered her friend to be capable of such a thing. The Clarice Starling she knew and loved would never do something so stupid, no matter what she'd been going through. Mapp felt like hitting her head against the wall. Suggesting Starling might cut herself was like openly admitting she knew nothing about her friend; that she saw Starling as a victim, like everyone else.

"I'm not that pathetic, Delia." Starling's voice had calmed slightly, anger fading into sadness. "Not yet, anyways."

Mapp moved closer to check the wound and, this time, Starling let her. She peeled the towel Starling had been pressing against it away. Sticky with blood, it pulled the jagged broken skin further apart, and Starling swore darkly.

"Damn, Clarice." The cut was longer than Mapp had expected, though not as deep. "You gotta knack of finding new and interesting ways of hurting yourself don't ya?"

Starling pursed her lips and pulled a face, but did not elaborate with words. Mapp busied herself with fetching her meagre medical supplies from the kitchen cabinets of her own half of the duplex. She returned, wiping a layer of dust from the packaging of some bandages, to find Starling picking the scabbing blood from one end.

"Hey!"

"It's got dirt in it!"

"Give it here."

An industrial size bottle of iodine, courtesy of Mapp's mother, was produced from Mapp's back pocket. She dabbed some onto a paper towel, then pressed it against Starling's arm.

"OW! What the hell is that?"

"Iodine, my mama swore by it." Mapp grabbed her friend's forearm as Starling tried to wrench it from her grasp.

"Well your mama was a sadist!"

Mapp closed her fingers over Starling's wrist and held her still.

"My mama was a nurse for twenty five years. And she would tell you exactly the same as what I'm gonna tell you – shut up and stay still!"

"…Ow!"

"Stop being such a cry-baby."

"But you're doing it on purpose!"

"Am not. Now stop squirming."

She cleaned out the cut and stretched some butterfly steri-strips over the open wound, pulling the broken edges of skin together.

"It's not gonna fall off, you know." Starling grumbled, bad temperedly.

"Yeah, well it could get infected. So, help out."

Mapp tried to ignore the cantankerous glares she was receiving. Punctuated by only a few more 'ow's and 'get off's from Starling, Mapp spent the next five minutes wrapping gauze over the top and taping it in place. There we go, Mapp smiled proudly, dare any germs to take that on!

"There we go, Superdoc to the rescue!" Mapp knelt up again, feeling pleased with the integrity of her bandaging.

Starling's gaze finally softened slightly. A twitch of a smile appeared at the left hand corner of her mouth.

"Ta, Superdoc."

Mapp felt her best friend's eyes slide over her face and noted a sadness that had filled them. Pulling her coat off, she climbed into the tub alongside Starling. There were towels lining the sides, so it wasn't that cold, but it was still quite an odd place to be sitting, even for Starling.

"Honey, are you really okay?"

Starling didn't look okay. But then, thought Mapp, it was a stupid question really. She wouldn't be okay if what had happened to Starling had happened to her. Mapp swallowed and looked away. She wasn't a shrink – how was she possibly supposed to help?

Starling nodded, then bit her lip and shook her head slightly.

"Yes. I mean, I'm not okay, but I will be. It's just…" another scrunched up facial expression. "I'm working on it. Yeah?"

Mapp smiled slightly. So Starling.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Blunt and ever so Starling. Mapp smiled.

"Me too."

"Good. Then we're friends and we can stop biting at each other's necks then?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"See you got your car back." Mapp offered, as conversation.

Starling nodded and smiled.

"Got the call earlier, at work. Vale gave me a ride over to the repairs place."

Mapp nodded, and wondered whether she should ask about Vale. Did Starling expect her to ask? I mean, he had been her partner on the Lecter case – they had gotten pretty close over those weeks. Mapp missed his enthusiasm a little, now she was working on her own. Okay, well, maybe more than a little. Though she had not realised it at the time, Vale had shouldered a lot of her stresses. Without him there to back her up, she found herself feeling distinctly alone against the bureaucracy. Mapp decided she should ask about Vale. It's what a friend would do. It wasn't too stalker-ish, or girl-with-crush-ish. Not as long as she kept it casual. Nonchalant.

"So, how's Vale doing?"

Damn. Mapp cursed herself. As soon as the words left her lips, she realised they had sounded _too_ casual, _too_ nonchalant.

Starling lifted her gaze ever-so-slightly, eyes dancing playfully around Mapp's face. Mapp felt the tips of her ears warm slightly and was glad of her dark skin that hid the beginnings of a blush.

"Oh, you know, he's okay." She replied, lightly.

Mapp got the distinct impression that Starling might be having an internal laugh at her expense so she stood up to change the direction of the conversation.

"So do you need help fixing up that car or what?"

The laughter in Starling's eyes faded slightly, and she took a slow breath, looking up at Mapp who stood over her.

"Dee, I've kinda wanted to talk for a sec about something." Her eyes were serious. "I've made a decision." A little flutter of insecurity passed through her deep blue eyes "About the pregnancy."

Mapp felt a pang of empathy for her old friend. She knew how hard it was going to be, for Starling to make this decision she had to make. Deep inside her, a tiny, tiny bundle of cells had begun to divide; first two, then four, then sixteen. Those cells then differentiated into skin and organs, eyes and fingernails. Then the heart had started beating and the embryo had became a fetus proper. A tiny human. Still tiny enough, at almost five months, thought Mapp. Starling's belly had not even begun to swell. A gentle curve below her navel, between her hip bones, was the only evidence. The nausea had faded weeks ago. She still had time. Mapp knew that taking the step would be hard on her, though. While logical, and while Starling must know it to be the right course of action, Mapp knew her friend could never take a life without being sure it was the only real course of action. It must have been tearing her up inside.

Mapp sat back down, opposite Starling, and took her hand.

"I'll be there. I'll come to the clinic, be there, whatever, okay? You know that, right?"

Starling looked up, grateful. Mapp reiterated her comforting words.

"I'll be there."

"Ardelia," Starling squeezed Mapp's hand, "I'm not getting rid of the baby."

The words '_What'_, closely followed by '_the Hell_!' verged on flying violently from Mapp's lips, but she restrained herself. Mapp swallowed, trying to hide her emotions, but they spilled out onto her face anyway, her eyebrows tightening together. Mapp had known Starling for years, ever since they barely qualified as adults, back at Quantico. She knew Starling was strong-willed and determined, but she couldn't do this. She couldn't raise a kid – that kid – by herself. Starling had never even looked after nieces or nephews before, how was she supposed to know the first thing about looking after children? And everyone knew exactly how and where that kid had come from.

Eventually, Mapp shook her head, and spoke.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Starling raised an eyebrow.

"Pardon?"

"Don't _pardon_ me, girl!"

"_What_, then?"

"I'm just saying, maybe you should think on it a bit." Mapp had released her friend's arm and sat back against her own side of the bathtub. "You know, get yourself rested up and…well."

"And sane?" there was a terse edge to Starling's voice, thought Mapp could tell she was fighting to appear in complete control.

"That ain't what I meant."

"Sure it was."

"Clarice!"

Starling's frown hardened.

"I'm sorry if it's not what you wanted for me, but, like you said, it's my choice."

"Clarice," she didn't know what to say. "Clarice, this is not something you can take lightly."

Starling laughed.

"Lightly? You think I'm taking this lightly? I've barely thought of anything else for the last few weeks!" Starling took a deep breath and then let it out again, slowly. She composed herself before continuing. "I know what I'm doing. I've made my choice."

"That _thing-_" Mapp started.

"My child," Starling corrected her, patiently and without anger.

Mapp swallowed back her discomfort and plunged ahead with her argument.

"That _child_ is gonna be different that other kids. And yeah, because of where it came from. Don' try and tell me people are gonna treat him or her the same. You saw the papers when you came home – you saw what the press were like. Imagine what will happen when the eventually find out not only that you're pregnant, but that you're keeping it?"

"I never said it was an easy choice." Starling explained, in the same annoyingly calm voice. "I just said it was the one I had chosen."

"Well I'm so glad you've thought this through!"

"You know, Dee, if it was you who had gotten yourself into this mess, I would be the first one there, to stick by your side and support you – whatever choice you made. That's what friends do, Dee."

"Yeah, only _you_ didn't get yourself into this mess, did ya?"

"Oh, I think I- ." Starling cut herself off, paused for a moment, and then swore in frustration. She threw her arms akimbo then clambered out the bathtub and began to pace agitatedly across the bathroom. After a minute, her breathing had slowed again and she stopped, looking over at Ardelia, who was still sitting amongst the towels in the tub.

"Listen, I have fought for people's approval in many areas of my life, Ardelia. I have tried and tried to please people so many times, but on this one… I'm not budging. Sorry."

Mapp blinked, not quite able to believe the speech that had just spilled out her friend's mouth.

Starling stepped closer to the bath. Her eyes were still blazing, but they were not as angry as they were before. It was conviction shining through now. She reached out to take Mapp's hand.

"I'm telling you this not to drive you away, but to help you understand. What happened to me over the last three years is a matter between me and the other person involved. You will never understand how I feel about that time, and I don't think I could even try to explain it to you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Mapp felt her eyes prick with tears, her throat with heat.

"I'm so sorry, Clarice, I tried. I tried to find you. I've been trying so hard, but I just couldn't get there in time."

For a moment, Starling looked as if she was about to cry too, then she knelt beside the bath and took Mapp's hand.

"Come with me."

She led her into her own bedroom, dusty and warm in the late summer evening. Mapp's housemate let go of her hand near the bed, then crossed to the other side of the room alone. Flicking on the TV, she ducked down to the cabinet and pulled out a DVD disk. Halfway through pushing it in, she stopped and turned around.

"I know this is hard for you, because you feel responsible. And I know until you believe it yourself, me saying this is useless, but I'm gonna say it anyway…" she paused and fixed Mapp with an intense stare. "Nothing that happened to me was your fault, Ardelia."

Starling pushed the disk into the machine, took the remote, and walked back over to the bed. Motioning to Mapp to sit beside her, Starling arranged herself in a comfortable position. Mapp watched her face contract as she searched the remote, looking no doubt for the 'on' button. Despite the tensions between them, she felt a smile inside of her. Starling had always been useless with technology.

"Here." She took the remote and switched the TV on, then sat beside her friend.

A grainy image appeared on the screen, at the pressing of another button, and dark sepia shadows swelled and faded across the field of vision. An ultrasound. Mapp felt herself grow reverently still. She could not make out a baby amongst the many shadows.

"Where..?"

Starling moved forwards, to kneel on front of the screen. As she searched, she spoke.

"I got it done this afternoon, after I picked up the car. Went down to A&E and asked for one there. It only took twenty minutes." She pointed to a light shape near the upper left of the screen. "There."

A blurred shape was indeed visible at the tips of Starling's outstretched fingers. The view panned in another direction and Starling moved her finger to highlight the fetus again. It was obvious from this angle. On the screen, a tiny flickering shape was present. It could have been a heart beating, but Mapp couldn't tell. It pulsed steadily amongst the shifting indefinite shadows of the background. Starling's hand moved before the camera shifted, to point to it again as the ultrasound panned to a different angle. Her knowledge of the camera's movements made Mapp wonder wondered if she had watched the clip through a few times.

"Don't ask me what way up she is, but that's her."

For a beat or two of time, Mapp forgot the situation and felt a stir of wonder inside of her. That thing, that fuzzy shape, was a human being. A 'her', a female, a girl, a tiny baby girl. She turned to Starling to say something, but found her friend watching the screen raptly. Starling's eyes were not filled with maternal longing, or any inkling of sappy emotion, but there was something lurking there – a fierce protectiveness – that Mapp had never seen before.

"I can't explain it, Dee. I don't think it can be explained. I never did want kids and I don't expect that I've changed all that much. I'm not gonna get all sappy over little baby-gros and booties and shit. I don't feel duty-bound or nothing. I just feel that baby inside of me. I feel a connection to a person. Not a thing – a person. It just is."

"Just _is_?"

"Told you I couldn't explain it any good," Starling said, with a strained apologetic smile. "Now is right. I feel it."

"That feelin' again, huh?"

"Hmm."

Mapp couldn't understand it. But, with a heavy sigh, she realised that she was going to have to make a choice herself. To question Clarice's decision, inevitably driving them apart – or to accept her choice, even though she could not understand it. Whatever Mapp thought about the matter of keeping the child, she knew that Clarice Starling was perfectly sane.

"An' you believe you're doin' right?"

They held each other's gaze for a full thirty seconds.

"Yeah."

"Then I'm behind ya."

Starling walked back over and sat on the bed beside her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I hear that's what friends do."

They embraced, Mapp relishing the closeness.


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter 22 – Patterns_

_._

The smell of frying drifted out, from inside the house, as Starling made her way back to her car. She had left Mapp inside making dinner, having refused her kind, but misguided offer to help work on the Mustang. Starling kicked a solitary leaf as it made its way across her path, scrambling over tufts of parched yellowing grass. She wondered if it would rain soon. The air had that sort of heavy feel to it. She looked skywards, however, and found it clear.

Shoving hands in pockets, the reinstated agent proceeded to the driveway. Her tools and polish rags lay where she had left them; Mapp's car parked a distance away on the grass. Starling turned her attention to the Mustang's muddied back doors, and debated whether or not to attempt them before dinner. Truth be told, she had come out not to work on the car but to avoid having to continue her conversation with Mapp. While necessary, it had been tense and uncomfortable. Talk about such subjects inevitably was.

Starling sighed. She had a slight ache developing across her lower spine and her knees were stiff from kneeling on the driveway. The Mustang would just have to wait until tomorrow to be clean. She lowered herself down onto the sun-warmed driveway instead. The heat the concrete had soaked up all afternoon was now being released against and it felt heavenly. Yeah. The ache there subsiding, Starling gazed up at the sky above her. Clouds trailed lazily, here and there, but her view was mostly filled with cornflower blue. Big, empty American skies… What had she thought she would trade for this view? Now she had it, was it worth it?

The answer to that lay in the tightness at the back of her throat.

From what Mapp had told her, about tracking Hannibal's progress, Starling knew that the FBI had been on to them before she had used the credit card in New York. The London address would eventually have led them to the maisonette on the edge of the prairie. But not so quickly. Starling felt a stab of guilt that resonated through her. There was no doubt in her mind that, if it weren't for her, there would be a greater chance that she and Hannibal would both still be free now. Starling pinched the heads off blades of grass that were growing through cracks in the driveway. If it hadn't been for her stupid impatience to see her homeland's wide blue sky.

"Fucking stupid!"

Starling gave the ground a thump with her closed fist. Why had she been so goddamn selfish? He had been happy to stay in London, or Rome, or even Buenos Aires before that. It had always been her needing to move on. Always running, always-

_Scared, Clarice_?

The voice inside her head sounded ever-so-familiar and ever-so-much like him. And Starling knew it was right. She had been scared. That is why she had needed to keep running. But was she running from the FBI? No. Starling had known her companion could hide the pair of them away for ever. She had trusted him implicitly. No, it was not the FBI she had been scared of. It was being happy.

Clarice Starling lay back against the warm concrete ground, breathing in warm late-summer air, and wondered when exactly she had fallen into madness. What legitimate human being was scared to admit they were happy? Part of her felt surprised the Doctor hadn't pursued the matter. He had probably known what was causing her unease long before she realised it. Although, knowing Hannibal, he had probably wanted to let her discover it for herself – a mistake in retrospect, as it was their nomadic lifestyle which had led to their discovery.

Starling sighed and began to pluck the grass again, pinching off soft, flexible blades between her thumb and forefinger.

In retrospect, a lot of things were made poignantly clear. There were so many things she wished she had said more often. She had been so insecure about admitting that she needed him and in voicing how she felt. That was her biggest regret. He had known, of course, but that was hardly the point. The sacrifices they had made, to be together, had been mutual. But what he had done for her in New York – given his freedom, for hers – was as good as a confession of undying love from a man such as Hannibal. Incomparable. She just wished (there it was; 'wished' that childish word that never did no one any good) she just wished she had said how she felt more often.

And been less goddamn selfish. If it weren't for her, they could still be free, somewhere – anywhere – in the world. If they could only be together, Starling realised, she really didn't care where. Lying on the concrete of the driveway, she knew that she would have followed him to the ends of the Earth, if he had asked her to. But he never had. He had always let her make her own damn decisions. And she had chosen to come back here. The words 'grass' 'greener' and 'other side' came to mind.

"Stupid…." Starling muttered again, fisting her hand around a stray weed. She twisted the plant's stem until it came away in her hand, venting her anger silently. Why did it always take losing something to see how much it meant to you? "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

So, here she was, courtesy of her inability to let go of the past. Here she was, trying to slip back into a life she had long outgrown and shed. Without him near, the lessons that the doctor had taught her seemed to be fading away and Starling felt naïve, self-conscious and doubting all over again. She felt just like the nervous FBI student who had walked up to his Baltimore prison cell; expecting madness and finding enlightenment. And to top it off, she was getting fat and hormonal. She was a social pariah and near to three months pregnant by a man on Death Row. It wasn't exactly what she had planned to be at the age of thirty-five.

"I'm dying here, H." she whispered to herself.

The sky folded ever outwards around her, clouds splitting the wide horizons. The sun pouring over Starling's body was strong. Maybe, if she closed her eyes and wished hard enough, she might wake up on the grassy slopes of their New York house, with him beside her. Or, perhaps, she could wish herself away to Singapore, in the heat of October, or the balcony in Buenos Aires where they had first lay, side by side, in the sun. But when she opened her eyes, she was still lying on that concrete driveway. A soft breeze ruffled her hair against her cheek and, for a second or two, it felt as if someone had brushed it. The semblance of a touch only served to make her feel more alone.

Sighing, Starling sat upright. If magic wasn't working, what next? She ran her hands over her lower abdomen, the skin between the spines of her hips. There was barely any rise there yet, but she knew what grew inside her, sharing her nutrients, her blood, her lifeline. What would she tell them, when they asked where their daddy was? Oh – sorry, baby, Daddy's dying in prison because Mommy's a coward? There would be no way of hiding the truth from the child. Her story was far too famous, now. She frowned against the sunlight, scrunching up her face and trying to block it all out. Baby mine – what do I tell you? She had asked herself over and over again. What do I tell her when she gets old enough to understand why people are staring?

Starling had spent countless hours in hospital rooms, tearing the options to pieces, over and over, in her mind. She could stay and raise her child in the light of the press cameras – but what child could grow up normally like that? It was barely an option at all. She could leave, go into witness protection – but that meant leaving Mapp and everything she knew behind. Or... Starling closed her eyelids and directed her face towards the sun, so that it warmed the thin skin there. Or, she could do something else... She could break her patterns. She could set a new path.

Within a week of waking up in hospital without him, Starling had made her decision to keep the baby. Starling had never planned on children, but this was different. The child growing inside her was more than just a child. It was part of her and part of him; a whole person that they had created together. And the instincts inside her spoke that it was something worth braving failure for. As a result of this decision, another was set in motion. After all, thinks Starling, tracing her fingers across the taut skin of her lower abdomen; she couldn't imagine having grown up without her daddy around.

Rolling over, Starling began to pick up her tools and polishing rags. She packed them away neatly and turned to the car, closing the hood.

Starling believed she had made both decisions wisely. From her reinstated position, back inside the FBI, she had access to everything she would need in the coming months - the FBI network, blueprints of the maximum security prison, personnel details and evacuation drills. However, she would have to be very careful. These resources were highly protected and carefully guarded. What she had set in motion, there was no turning back from. If she was caught, her actions would condemn her, but she had already assessed her options and deemed it necessary. She could not raise this child here and, if she had to leave, she might as well use her leaving wisely. Hannibal had given his freedom for hers. She would give her good name for his freedom. She would find a way to free him. She was not going to be a coward this time – even though it was going to seem that way to him, for a while.

Slamming the hood of the car shut, Starling wiped her hands on the back pockets of her jeans. The warm sun was falling fast in the sky. The faint scent of fried onion filled the air – Mapp at her skillet. A glance around the neighbourhood revealed a suburban stillness; the quiet before her storm. Plans flickered like ticker-tape through her mind as Starling breathed slowly in the evening air. A smile twitched her lips.

If you are going to break a pattern, you might as well do it in style.


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23 – Cat and mouse game_

_._

It was early morning and the world was happily getting on with whatever the world got on with. People fought along the streets, clutching bags and briefcases and children. Cars nudged for position on crowded roads, the sound of horns occasionally permeating the air. A faint steam rose off the tarmac as the sun grew stronger, the temperature increasing. Though it was late September, Baltimore was experiencing an unseasonably hot spell. Agent Ardelia Mapp struggled through it, sweating profusely inside her pantsuit. She was running late.

Mapp glanced at her watch as she ran up the last few steps, towards her destination. Twenty five minutes past ten. Damn. Mapp lifted her eyes and searched across the front lobby. Near the desk, she spotted a familiar back-of-head. Vale was on time, for once. Mapp gathered herself and made the ascent of the last few steps in a single bound. The ruffled FBI agent skidded across the stone flag vestibule, into the full length glass doors and - one hand outstretched, the other clutching at a case file - bulldozed in, past two men heading the other way.

"M'sorry… sorry," she gave a courteous mutter as she passed, then jogged across the room, towards her waiting colleague.

As she approached, her breath slowing into a more regular pattern, Mapp thought she would be able to slip up casually. But fate had other plans. Perhaps due to an ill-set flagstone, or perhaps (more likely) due to her own clumsiness, Mapp found her feet suddenly entangled in one another. She gave a muffled squawk of distress and tumbled forwards.

She landed, with a flourish, against the solid mass that was Vale's chest.

"Agent Mapp," Vale sniggered with glee as she clambered upright, using him as a crutch. "Running late?"

He had turned around just in time to witness her fall and, even more annoyingly, catch her. Mapp swallowed and nodded curtly.

"Good morning, Agent Vale."

His smirk widened.

"Ain't it a bit early to be drunk?"

Mapp shot him a less-than-amused glance and reached down to fix her shoe.

"Dodgy heel." She snapped, deciding it was the most likely cause for her undignified descent into the Maryland Correctional Adjustment Centre building.

Mapp had been woken early by her phone's demanding beep. It was Vale – annoyingly cheerful for the unearthly hour of six-thirty – who had found out that Dr Lecter had a gap in his daily schedule of doctor and lawyer visits. Ten-thirty, for half an hour. Immediately, Mapp had been wide awake. This was their first chance to talk to him, since his court date had been set.

For an incarcerated man, the Doctor had quite a busy social life. Lecter's celebrity meant that every psychiatrist was clamouring to get a quote, every journalist hovering outside the building for a sound-bite as he was bundled off to the courthouse. Mapp knew that he had not talked to one of them. It was simply a power game. One last prod at the FBI's wounded pride. By making himself as publicly visible as possible, but not saying anything under interrogation, it made the Bureau appear wholly inefficient.

Mapp had sincerely doubted that she and Vale making a visit to his prison cell would make a blind bit of difference to the Doctor. He would continue to politely ignore everyone but his attorney (and even him, unless he had been specially requested). But it was worth a try. The FBI had sent more senior agents in already, of course – agents specialised in interrogation techniques – but Dr Lecter had run rings around them. He had played with them for a while and then discarded them, like a five-year-old threw aside a used toy. Mapp did not think she and Vale would get anything from him. But, if nothing else, she believed it would bring her some degree of closure. It would allow her to stare into the face of the man who had caused her and Starling so much emotional turmoil, to see his suffering.

So Mapp had left early, tactically avoiding Starling's half of the duplex, (Starling was one of those mythical morning people. Four months pregnant and she still managed to rise and go for a gentle jog, before showering and heading into work for seven-thirty) Mapp had managed to shower and head up the highway just in time to make Baltimore for ten. Unfortunately the traffic situation had been unkind and she was now running five minutes late.

Mapp caught sight of herself in a metal plaque behind the reception desk. She hadn't had time for any primping this morning and it showed. Her few swipes of mascara did little to hide the dark bags under Mapp's eyes and her hair was distinctly fluffed up along one side. She tried to flatten it with one hand.

"I was running late," She mumbled in justification as Vale smirked again.

Mapp straightened up and looked about herself. The speed of her entry had set her off-balance. She had almost forgotten where she was.

Maryland Correctional Adjustment Centre was a large building, built directly across from the former Maryland Penitentiary. It was ugly as sin. A modern glass door system, was about as far as the architect had gone in terms of aesthetics. The rest seemed to be formed from poured concrete. Mapp thought the appearance fitted perfectly with the building's purpose – a cage for lost and damaged souls. There was a cool chill about the place that not even the cheerful paintings hung in the front lobby could hide. Mapp was eager to be finished and gone. The MCAC was not a place anyone wanted to hang around longer than was necessary.

Mapp's thoughts turned back to Lecter. She and Vale were due to come face to face with him in court later that day and the preliminary trial was not looking good. Without Lecter's cooperation and submission to stringent psychological testing, the judge would try him as an insane man. The result, no death penalty. They could take his freedom, but they couldn't take his life.

The bureaucrats perched on the upper rungs of the FBI career ladder were, unsurprisingly, balking at the idea. Lecter's recapture had been a public relations wet dream. A collar on this scale, in the FBI's name, had brought them back into the light after a very long time in the press's darker sights. The case had been built on meticulous analysis and psychological profiling. A serial killer and kidnapper brought to justice. The Death Penalty would be the ultimate garnish.

"So, have you heard from Lecter's attorney?" she asked Vale.

"Yeah, slimy bastard." For some reason, the subject of attorneys generally caused Vale to enter into streams of abusive language. "He's not heard from Lecter either, apart from three strongly worded letters about the goddamn food quality."

"Of course." Mapp muttered, sweeping her gaze over the front desk.

The complimentary butch prison guard receptionist was in place, watching them through half-narrowed eyes as she chewed on her gum – mildly resembling a cow chewing the cud.

"So," she turned back to Vale with a sigh of resignation. "Ya ready?"

"Goin' in?"

"Yeah, yeah. If the attorney hasn't got any complaints."

"I guess we sign in here, then."

They proceeded to the reception desk, where the receptionist immediately became busy. Vale waited patiently, pen extended, for almost a minute before she stopped tapping at her computer keyboard and glanced up.

"You here to visit?"

Mapp flashed a badge.

"FBI, Agent Mapp. We've got an interview with Hannibal Lecter. Were told to ask for a Tom Skelton, who would lead us up to his block?"

The receptionist chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then her eyes travelled to Vale.

"He with you?"

"Yes."

She gave them another glance up and down then proceeded with more vicious, masticating movements. Mapp felt sorry for the gum.

"He got a badge?"

Vale made the necessary movements with his identification and the receptionist called for Skelton. It took a further ten minutes for their guide to make it to the desk. By the time they made it up to the level of the prison that Lecter resided on, it was already seven minutes into their allotted meeting time. The guard led them away from the lobby with nothing more than a grunt and a silent pointing motion of his arm. Upstairs, however, in the narrow maze of corridors reserved for staff, Skelton came into his own.

He turned to Mapp and, with that morbid cheer that so often seemed to surround the carers of the criminally insane, started to grill them on all things Lecter.

"So, you're the guys who brought him in, are ya?"

"Yes sir, we were part of the team." Mapp nodded politely.

All the time, she was peering past him, trying to catch a glimpse of what environment they would be interviewing in. The three were approaching the end of their hallway, an intersection in corridors, with a giant steel sign, covered in small black letters and directing arrows.

"Hoping to get a few words out him, huh?" Skelton asked, clearly digging for gossip. "Make your trial a bit easier?" he gave a little chuckle.

Mapp didn't blame the prison guard for laughing. Their quest was something of a farce. When Mapp mentioned she wanted to interview Lecter to her colleagues they had just stared at her, as if she had just announced she was off to climb Everest, blindfolded, with her legs tied together.

"Yeah, well, we're hopin' for something, anyway." Vale countered, in an obvious attempt to diffuse the situation.

"Right, well, um... we'll need to get on with this." Mapp stepped in. "If you don't mind, sir."

Skelton nodded furiously.

"Of course, of course. You know the drill. Away from the bars, no sharp objects, if you give him anything it's through the food drop. If he comes up to the netting, make sure you're well clear. It's perfectly safe, but we don't want to take any chances with this one. He can give ya quite a scare, if he jumps suddenly."

The guard's smile widened. Mapp suspected that getting a scare off the cannibal would only brighten his day.

"Ready to go through?"

Mapp looked to Vale. Vale nodded.

"Yes."

"Right this way then, ma'am, sir."

He led them through a set of secure doors, swiping his card as he went, chatting away all the while.

"All automated these days, of course. Computers control everything. These dicky cards, too." he waved his over his head, carelessly near the bars of an inmate's cell. "Loose the damn thing all the time."

The three passed through another bleak white corridor before coming to a thick doorway, upon which the word 'maximum security' was emblazoned in steel-effect lettering. Skelton paused in the doorway and pressed a small buzzer.

"Here we go. Show your identification at the camera and someone will let you in. Just inside, you'll come to one of the guard's booths. Leave your stuff there and then they'll direct you to Lecter's cell. Can't go any further myself, I'm afraid. Clearance." With that, Skelton turned and, shooting the two Agents a toothy smile, whistled his way off down the corridor.

Vale turned to Mapp.

"Bit cheerful, ain't he?"

Mapp didn't have time to reply. A husky voice had issued from a metal grate near the door to the Maximum security block.

"Yeah?"

Mapp, was surreally reminded of a drive-thru.

"Agents Vale and Mapp here, we've got an appointment to see Dr Hannibal Lecter."

They lifted their open badges to the camera, for inspection. The voice behind the grate paused, considering, then;

"Come on through then, there's a booth right inside. Put all your belongings in the tray provided."

A buzz.

Mapp and Vale entered with caution.

The white inside was almost blinding, the smell overpoweringly chemical. Mapp and Vale walked past a blank whitewashed brick wall, up to the guard's desk. The man behind the glass motioned for them to deposit their bags and other items in a box, which he then withdrew inside his booth. Then, in a voice strangely muffled by the glass, he directed them along the corridor.

"Number three-o-three. He's four down on your left. Second to last. Can't miss him – he's the only one with a net."

A comforting thought.

Mapp and Vale made their way along the long corridor, past the small square rooms that housed some of the country's most dangerous men. She had to admit, most of them looked alarmingly ordinary. The man in the cell next to Lecter had a generous white beard, and looked rather like father Christmas. Most disconcerting. Mapp swallowed back her nerves, determined to arrive calm and in control. In the back of her mind were things Starling had said about him, back in Quantico, when she had first met Lecter.

_'He feeds off distress'._

Mapp took another deep breath, and then led their final steps up to cell three-o-three.

White brick walls marked out a small square room, containing just enough room for a bed, a desk and a toilet. Lecter was sitting at his desk, back turned, looking rather less than interested in his visitors, or indeed anything other than the letter which he was labouring over. Felt tip pen on soft paper; not his usual style. Mapp cleared her throat to announce their presence, though she was fairly sure Lecter had heard them coming.

"Doctor Lecter?"

He did not turn, but slowly finished signing his name in a languid, graceful movement at the bottom of his letter.

"Excuse me, sir?" Starling had always stressed how important it was to be polite to him. Much as Mapp detested the idea, she was duty-bound to try her best. "Excuse me, Dr Lecter, my name is Ardelia Mapp. I am an agent for the FBI. Myself and my colleague are here to ask you a few questions, if you would be so considerate as to answer them."

Too much?

Mapp swallowed nervously as Lecter paused. From the back, all they could see was the sleek line of his neck. Dark hair had been smoothed back to the nape, and formed a neat curl there. It was streaked by more than a bit of grey now. The photographs Mapp had, from his previous incarceration, showed him much younger. When he turned, however, his face was almost unchanged. One hand genteelly on the back of the chair, he stood, and watched them. Mapp felt her heart beat a slight faster, her throat all the tighter now she knew she had to use it. Vale had already expressed his preference not to speak, unless addressed. She would ask Lecter the questions – a choice she was now beginning to regret.

Lecter tilted his head as Mapp coaxed herself onwards. Words retreated back down her throat and the well-rehearsed questions she had planned were suddenly gone from memory.

"Doctor," she eventually managed, "we would like to ask you a few questions. Will you comply?"

"With your questions, agent Mapp?" the sleek head tilted back, dark features slipping easily into a polite smile. If the situation had been different, Mapp would have almost called it charming. Lecter's dark, dark eyes fixed on hers, hooking her deeper into the conversation. He continued, "Or with the psychiatric evaluations you have come here to peddle?"

"I'm not peddling, Doctor."

Mapp was glad he was talking. Insults, she could handle, his silence was worse.

The Doctor hummed indistinctly and, still watching her with rapt interest, tilted his head back and appeared to inhale her scent. Vale tensed a bit at her side, but did not move or say anything. Mapp was glad. Lecter appeared to be in a playful mood. If she could get him to play a game, maybe she could manipulate it in her favour.

"Doctor Lecter, we've come to discuss the upcoming court date."

His eyes were no longer fixed on her face, but roamed freely across her. It would have been lecherous, but his gaze did not seem to have any sexual intent. He did not linger across her thigh or her breast. Instead, he seemed to be drinking her in, absorbing her through sight.

"Would you care, Agent Mapp, to know something interesting?"

"I would care, Doctor, to discuss your court date."

Another hum.

"You smell of fear, Agent Ardelia Mapp,"

Another tensing from Vale, at her side.

"You stink of it and of something else..." a twitch of his mouth, resembling a smile. Then, the Doctor's deep maroon eyes lifted to hers. "Your perfume is something loud. Ostentatiously brash and perilously sweet. It almost covers hers, almost. She lingers; perhaps, on that jacket you are wearing." He frowned. "Is that it?"

Mapp subconsciously fiddled with the edges of her jacket sleeves. Starling had worn it the previous night, going out in the dark to drop cans into the recycling bin. Her scent was imperceptible, surely. Even to Mapp, wearing it, it was negligible. From his distance, surely...

"Doctor Lecter," Vale broke in. Despite his earlier plea, this last comment from the Doctor seemed too much for him to suffer in silence. "We aren't here to discuss your previous crimes, or Agent Starling,"

A flicker, perhaps of malicious intent, lit Lecter's eyes.

"We are here to ask you to cooperate with a psychiatric evaluation."

The doctor let his mouth drop open slightly, and Mapp saw the point of his tongue insinuate itself against the back of his front teeth, in what seemed to be a thoughtful pose.

"And why, pray tell, would I do that?"

"We could offer you access to amenities that you would not normally be allowed." Mapp said, stepping in, taking command.

Now that words were flowing, her fear was ebbing slightly.

"Amenities?"

"Access to books, better food, perhaps even computers."

Lecter gave a soft, strange laugh. Almost a hiss.

"To live out the last few days of my life in luxury?"

"Doctor,"

"Agent Mapp, I have played this game before."

"I'm not playing a game, Lecter."

His expression changed very slightly, but Mapp could not pinpoint how.

"Listen," she was done bullshitting. This guy was clearly not going to cooperate. All she had to do now was make a last offer and get out of there. She had tried, after all. "I don't like you and I'm pretty damn sure you don't like me. But I've got a job to do here, Doctor. I've got to try and prove you sane before a court. A psychiatric evaluation will make that a hell of a lot easier for me, so I have got to try and get one. Do you understand?"

"Fully," complete with a polite inclination of the head.

"Now, I don't think you're gonna play this game, Doctor. And I'm not dumb enough to try and trick you."

"Like your good friend Special Agent Clarice Starling did, _all them years back,_ in Baltimore?"

Mapp chose to ignore the comment. He had applied a generous amount of twang with the final sentence; a not-so-gentle mockery of her southern accent.

"I want to know if there is any way we can get you to submit to a psychiatric evaluation that would be admissible to court. I want to know if you are willing to stand trial as a sane man."

Lecter considered her for a moment, then lifted his hand gracefully from the chair and took one step forwards. Though the net and bars still separated them, Mapp found herself thinking nervously back to the prison Guard, Skelton's words about the doors. They were all automated. Imagine if they were to malfunction right now... She avoided swallowing, though a ball of saliva was gathering in the back of her throat, making it almost difficult to breathe.

"I understand, Agent Mapp, that you are a direct character. You speak your mind and speak it freely. I believe this is what drew Clarice to you in the first place. That and a shared stigma. Your southern roots perhaps, or a disadvantage-."

"I was born into a good hard-working family, Doctor Lecter. My being black does not mean I grew up disadvantaged."

The Doctor gave the moment pause. Perhaps, gathering shards of information to throw back at her at a later date.

Mapp bit her lip for speaking so emotively and about herself. Nothing personal – she knew the rules.

"The speed at which you linked your ethnicity to disadvantage speaks volumes, Agent Mapp." He spoke softly, playing the words like music across his tongue. The tone spoke satisfaction.

"Stop messing about, Doctor." Vale warned.

Mapp wondered whether his tone was protective or just out of desire to escape. Her own urge to leave the bleak, white hallway was almost overwhelming. She felt like running, there and then. But no, she had a job to do. Swallowing back more fear and saliva, she collected herself, just in time for the Doctor to continue.

"You made me an offer which contained a lot of 'want'. What _you_ want. To proceed, we must consider, now, what _I_ want."

Lecter clasped his hands behind his back, shifting his weight onto his heels. He looked like a gentleman standing at a party, or by a table at dinner, with dignity far above his circumstance.

"And what do you want, Dr Lecter?" Mapp asked, dreading the answer.

"I want to walk on grass again, feel wind against my skin and taste a light Barolo under a heavy Cuneon sun." The doctor closed his eyes briefly, and Mapp wondered if he was imagining the scene he described. "But..." His eyes snapped open, fixed on hers. "But I doubt you are in any position to offer me any of these things. You seek my destruction, Agent Mapp. You wish to give, only enough to take away again."

"I think you overestimate what I want, Doctor Lecter." Mapp murmured, unable to hide the malice in her words. She did not want to give. Just take. His life would do.

The Doctor stared for a while, forming a vague 'o' with his lips. Still not saying anything, just considering.

"Come on," Vale touched her elbow lightly "let's go."

Mapp shook her head slightly.

Inside his cage, Lecter smiled.

"You know what I want."

He wanted Starling. He wanted her friend, the woman close enough to be Mapp's sister. He wanted his prize back where he could see it.

Mapp tried, once more, to quell her anger, but it was a pointless exercise. Her dark brown eyes were blazing with it. She knew he could see. And even if he could not, he would smell it on her pheromones, or hear it in her shallowing breaths. Lecter wanted the one thing she loved more than almost everything else in the world. And he wanted to destroy it, probably almost as much as Mapp wanted to destroy him.

"Come on," Vale pressed again, "let's go, Ardelia."

"No, Vale."

She stepped forwards. The bars were only inches from her nose. On the other side, Lecter took a step to mirror hers, bringing him to about four feet away. She could smell him. He was not an unpleasant smell. Not like the oily scent of his neighbour, the man with the beard in cell three-o-five. His scent reminded Mapp of something warm, but not sweet. A spice, perhaps. Not something she could place, but something she would always remember.

They stood and regarded each other, like two big cats, sizing one another up. Or perhaps, thought Mapp, he was the cat and she was merely the prey. A deer caught in the headlights. Or a mouse, trembling as the cat played out his final strike. She took a heavy breath, unsteady despite her best efforts.

"I'm afraid I cannot offer you that, either."

"No..." he breathed delicately "No, only she can offer herself." A feline smile. "It is a quandary for you, truly. To destroy me, you must risk letting her come to me."

"She won't come to you."

Another smile.

This cat that had its prey trapped. The bringing of Starling into the equation had ruffled Mapp, though she had known he might attempt it. It brought back feelings of anger and helplessness. Suddenly, she was loosing that cool control she had managed to preserve through the rest of the visit. Her next words were blurted out in haste, with more than a bit of bite in them.

"She won't come anywhere near you, Doctor. She's safe now. She's safe with me."

Dr Lecter appeared to give this some thought, and then tilted his head, deep maroon eyes catching the faint flint of the fluorescent lights above.

"Unless I have misjudged her character; a rare, but not unheard of occurrence, Clarice Starling does not need any more protecting than an infant shark. She was born with teeth, Agent Mapp, and she knows well how to use them."

Lecter's, probably intended, reference to teeth caused Mapp a momentary lapse in concentration. She did not have a response.

"Do not misunderstand me;" Lecter continued, non-plussed by the Agents' lack of cooperation in the conversation. "The comparison to a shark ends there. She is never predatory, neither have I ever noted her to have a particular lust for blood, but the metaphor stands... 'Your' Clarice is quite capable of taking care of herself." He lifted his eyes to fix on Mapp's. "And of making her own decisions."

"You know, I don't think we're gonna get that evaluation." Vale murmured.

Mapp almost jumped. For a moment or two, absorbed in the twisted world of Lecter's metaphors, she had almost forgotten where she was. And that Vale was standing there with her. His words, however, brought her harshly back to reality. Mapp sighed. She had to agree with the other Agent. Lecter was playing – just not their game. Perhaps, it was time to concede this match point and move on.

"Doctor Lecter, I am not giving you your freedom and I am not offering you Clarice Starling. Anything else, short of a public appearance on television," Mapp added that bit in, simply because she thought she might actually be able to swing it, "we can do. Resources, personal luxuries... you make the request and we will do our best to fulfil it. In return for your cooperation."

Lecter held his gaze for a few moments longer then, presumably sensing Mapp had no further interest in his games, transferred his gaze to her companion. Vale was still standing behind her. He looked markedly uncomfortable at the Doctor's interest.

In the distance, the noises of the prison filtered through. A man snuffling into a handkerchief next door, a cup clanging against the floor. Upstairs, perhaps, footsteps sound as someone runs down a corridor. Cell bars colliding with something metal. The electric buzz of the doors. Lecter, never one to become distracted from his quarry, was still focused intensely on Vale. Perhaps he was thinking, considering their request. Mapp could not be sure.

"Doctor?"

She pressed politely, but firmly, for an answer.

"I sense we are reaching an impasse of conversation, so I shall propose my terms, Agent Mapp." He looked back over, head upright, back straight, eyes serious. "One meeting with Clarice Starling, face to face."

Mapp's expression must have contracted in disgust, because he opened his mouth to clarify.

"Behind bars being preferable to restraints, if I have the choice. One meeting. After that, I will cooperate fully with whatever psychiatric evaluations you deem necessary."

And with that, the venerable Doctor took a step back from the bars, inclined his head, and bid them good afternoon.

Mapp and Vale waited until it was obvious that they were not going to get anything more from him, then turned and walked silently back to the prison guard's bullet-proof booth. They collected their items and were buzzed back through, where they were met by Skelton, who led them back – amidst more endless chatter – to the front reception desk of the prison. The agents collected their firearms and signed out.

Only once they were back out in the mid-morning sunshine, did Mapp find she could breathe easily. There was darkness in that building, a darkness that, in all fairness, could not solely be attributed to Dr Lecter. But he had been, without a doubt, the most disturbing part of their visit. Mapp had listened to Starling tell her stories about him, all those years ago, and believed, but not quite understood, the terrible abandon with which his mind worked. Standing on front of him, for the first time, she had suddenly realised what it was like to stare into the eyes of someone who had nothing to lose. It was chilling.

Now, she closed her eyes against the sun and willed it to warm her all the way through. Part of Mapp almost felt that Lecter had passed out of the building with them. A shadow was imprinted on her mind, now. If she closed her eyes for too long, she could almost see maroon eyes staring back at her.

"You okay?"

Mapp opened her eyes and breathed in another lungful of sun-filled air. Vale was standing on the step below her, looking into her face with mild worry. With him standing on the lower step, Mapp noticed, she was an inch two taller. She smiled.

"M'fine. He's a bundle of laughs, though, huh?"

Vale read her discomfort into the jokey statement. She didn't need to express it.

"I've never met a sociopath before."

Mapp had to laugh. Vale had mentioned it as lightly as if he had been referring to a golfer, or an accountant.

"Yeah. Me neither." She sighed. "Not a piece of work like Lecter."

"So, I guess we kinda failed on getting that evaluation."

"Unless you're planning on handing Clarice over anytime soon." Mapp murmured sarcastically. "C'mon, it's Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter. What did you expect, a signed confession?"

Vale shrugged.

"I don't know. More than that, perhaps." He stretched and scratched the back of his neck. Mapp remembered that he had been awake since the smallest hours of last night. "He speaks in riddles."

"Yeah."

Mapp wandered down a few steps, past her ex-partner and out onto the sidewalk. The stone there reflected the sun and made the day feel warmer than it was. She was glad of it, after the clinical cool of inside, even if it was making her start to sweat a little.

"Ah... fuck me." Vale yawned. "What now, then?"

"Sleep?" Mapp suggested.

Vale laughed, finishing off a second even more magnificent yawn.

"Yeah, for you maybe. I've gotta date with Starling. We're running another time over these Senator Woodley files."

"I thought you had that guy, Mendez, put away solid?"

"Ah – we do. Clarice is just worrying."

"She could do that herself, you've gotta get some rest before this court date this afternoon."

As she said it, Mapp's heart fell slightly. She was going to have to see Lecter again this very day.

"I'll just sleep through the boring bits." Vale waved a hand dismissively, then shot Mapp a smile and began to rummage in his pockets for his car keys. "You'll wake me up if they do anything important, right?"

"You're testifying." Mapp reminded him gently, though she knew he was only joking.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

She smiled.

"Well jus' don't get caught up in Clarice's latest crusade." Mapp warned. "She gets kinda wrapped up in things."

Really, as if he needed told. This whole Lecter situation would have never happened if Clarice hadn't got too close. Too personal. Mapp sometimes had to remind herself that Starling had saved that girl, all those years ago. Buffalo Bill could have gone on, killed more. It was down to her friend that he was stopped. But, somehow, Mapp couldn't quite decide it was worth it. Three years with Lecter seemed an awful lot to sacrifice for a closed case file.

"She's just checking this Mendez stuff over. Bein' thorough. And I'm just watching her back."

"Yeah, well don't lose too much sleep over it. Starling can handle herself jus' fine."

The comment hung for a moment in the air. Lecter's words coming back to haunt the two agents, like a cold mist through the sunlight.

"I'm gonna head off now. You good for reporting our failure to Pearsall by yourself?"

Mapp nodded.

"Lookin' forward to it."

Vale chuckled. Holding his car keys up in a wave, he walked away, backwards at first, in the direction he had supposedly parked in. Mapp had parked in the opposite direction. She waved in return and watched him go. He was halfway down the street before she turned and headed for her own car.

Part of her wanted to follow him back to HQ and spend the morning with him and Starling. After what she had seen in the prison, she didn't want to be alone. She felt like Lecter was infecting her mind, creeping slowly into every crevice. Mapp wondered if, left alone, he would take her over. She thought he might be able to do that – consume her whole.

Wrenching her thoughts from the dark and abandoned, Mapp focused her mind on Starling and Vale. She had people to look out for right now. She had to go home, call Pearsall to tell him of her failure, shower and then get ready for court. If she couldn't get Lecter to submit to psychiatric evaluations, she was just gonna have to give a damn fantastic testimony. Yeah, she'd be fine.

Reassuring herself of her proficiency, Mapp clicked her car doors open and climbed in. The air inside was stifling, so she rolled down the windows and drove home with the wind in her hair. The sun was warm under cloudless skies. It felt good.


	24. Chapter 24

_Chapter 24 – Restless_

_._

Four bleak whitewashed walls, spaced equally apart, formed the boundaries of the small square room. It was small – eleven by seven feet with one small slit window – and whitewashed, bleached and scrubbed to the highest hygiene standards upheld by USA penitentiaries. The cell was under constant supervision from two cameras, positioned at opposing angles in the corridor outside. Their red lights were like blinking eyes in the darkness of the corridor. They watched him, night and day.

Doctor Lecter lay on his right-hand side, face towards the wall. He was tired. The day had been spent in a series of meetings. Lawyers, psychologists, intolerable F.B.I agents; everyone had been for a shot at interrogation and everyone had failed. Lecter yawned. He had a plastic chair and small desk –his only conveniences – but he did not feel like sitting upright at the moment. The wound in his shoulder, now a month old, had not yet fully healed. The doctor suspected it was due to the ineptness of the nurses involved in his aftercare, but appointing blame would only aggravate the situation. Testing it now, he could feel that there was some subcutaneous nerve damage, but nothing severe. More worrying to him was the itch around the point of entry, indicating mild infection. The doctor sighed and reminded himself to mention this to the hapless attorney, tomorrow. The prison 'physician' had a loose grasp of human rights and unfortunately, for all his talents, the Doctor had not yet developed psychic healing abilities. He would need antibiotics.

He twitched in bed, testing the strength of his body. The wound on his leg was fully healed. The abdominal wound, which had resulted in him losing his spleen, was coming along nicely, though it was still tender to touch. Lecter regarded the loss of his spleen as a minor nuisance. It left him at higher risk of infection, but as he was only to live for a few more months, it would hardly become an issue. The doctor sighed darkly. It was not often that the death penalty could be considered a blessing. Not that he was wallowing...

The doctor regarded the wall and wondered what amount of self-pity was considered acceptable for a man in his position. Alone in his cot-like prison bed, he did not feel particularly enamoured with the direction (and brevity) his life was taking.

As he fidgeted again, a searing pain shot obliquely through his shoulder, following the trajectory the SWAT agent's bullet had taken. It was the shoulder that had been dislocated, all those years ago, in Baltimore. The swelling from the wound irritated the damaged shoulder joint, it was becoming difficult to circumduct his arm. It hurt, it fucking hurt. Dr Lecter lay very still and stared harder at the wall.

The pain faded slowly into inconsequence. He shifted his head on the pillow-less bed, craning his neck to look up at the window – that narrow slit in the right hand corner of the cell. The glass was opaque and criss-crossed with mesh. The colour of the sky was not clearly visible but, by the intensity of the light passing through, Lecter guessed it was a clear day. He blinked slowly, playing with the way light caught on his eyelashes.

With his eyes closed, the light lit his eyelids, turning them a glowing pink from the inside. Open, he could see the light shine, and then fade slightly – perhaps a cloud passing over the sun, beyond his vision. Close. Open. Blink again. Another sigh. The Doctor's eyelids were getting heavy. There was no real point in trying to stay awake, he reasoned. It was not as if he had anywhere to go, anything to do. His 'interviews' had ceased for the day, visiting hours were over. His eyes fluttered, and then he allowed them to close. The light faded from his consciousness, Lecter sighed. Asleep was good. Asleep did not hurt so much. He kept his eyes closed, letting the dull monotony of Maximum Security block out the impending nightmares.

Death Row; he would have thought it more threatening. There were no stone dungeon walls, no dripping ominous noises or screams of the mad, in neighbouring cells. It was far more civilized than the psychiatric hospital. Occasionally, the silence was punctuated by muffled footsteps, or the guard dropping his pen as he did the crossword, safe in his booth at the end of the hallway. Lecter concentrated. The sounds of the cell block were slowly fading out into static. Maybe, if he concentrated hard enough... yes. Lecter slowed his breathing, focussed into silence. Yes... this was nice... Silence.

The current state of being faded and in the half-consciousness that followed, Hannibal Lecter could see his memories come to life, more vividly than any dream. He wandered the expanses of his own mind, the detail almost painful to behold. The Doctor's breathing slowed further, into a steady, deep pattern. He searches amongst the memories. Clarice Starling features predominantly, especially in this memory.

.

_They lay on their backs, side by side, atop a four-posted bed. The room around them was filled with light from wide balcony windows and pale cream walls. It was beautiful; the house, the antique bed, the intricately worked furniture and the high-summer Chesapeake sky outside. All of it, beautiful. Towering columns of cloud, great anvil-heads lit from behind by a furious golden light. Their cloud-bellies were dark against the deep cerulean sky. The afternoon was heavy with expectation. Of distant rain... Of something extraordinary._

_If their surroundings were beautiful, then Clarice Starling was radiant. Her face was full of silent excitement and more than a little apprehension. Her cheeks were lightly golden from the sun. The faint freckling that had appeared across the bridge of her nose and forehead, made the colour of her eyes even more striking than before. Hannibal Lecter fixed on them, twin pools of emotion and secrets, as deep a blue as the East Coast sky outside._

_Yes, his Starling was beautiful, but she was also nervous. Quite visibly nervous. He watched the lines of her face twitch, her throat bob in a swallow._

_"Why the unease, little Starling?"_

_She gave a short laugh._

_"You know why."_

_Staring slipped a hand inside his._

_The feel of her fingers, soft and slim against his, was enough to cause his body to warm. This desire, for her, surpassed any Lecter had yet to experience. It was a desire that could only be satisfied by folding himself inside her. Fuck. The Doctor shivered. Coarse it may have been, but 'fuck' was what he wanted to do. It was a strangely animal desire; as pure as the instinct to stay alive, or to breathe. It was an addiction. Now he had tasted her, he could never stop._

_Starling twisted her fingers, weaving sinuous patterns against his palmar skin._

_"I'm not saying I don't want to, Hannibal."_

_She let go of his hand, folding her own across her stomach._

_Clarice Starling's abdomen was held in particular fondness by the Doctor. Infinitely feminine, infinitely delicate; it added a gentle roundness to her otherwise hard-muscled frame. He savoured every last inch of it. The curve between the spines of her hips, over which he liked to run his fingertips, the dip between her abdominal muscles, the teardrop shape of her navel... When she lay naked, shadows danced and lit these places. Clarice appeared then, as finely chiselled as the candle-lit models of an early Caravaggio. Pale, pale golden skin, half hidden in shadow. Bared to his examination. Exquisite._

_At the moment, Clarice Starling was clothed. But like the bow on a particularly desirable gift, her wrappings did nothing to diminish his excitement. Lecter suppressed a shiver._

_"There is no hurry, Clarice." Every muscle in his body screamed the opposite. "We have all the time in the world."_

_She smiled._

_"All the time in the world?"_

_"Mmm... You know that I would never ask for anything you did not feel ready to give, Clarice?"_

_"Yes. Yes, of course," fingertips brush the side of his ribs, stroking him through the thin material of his shirt. "I know that."_

_Eyelids fluttering slightly, Starling took in the moment. Then, with a smile, she pulled back and away._

_._

Dr Lecter smiled in his half-awake state. He remembered this part well.

The memory grew, swelling in detail.

.

_His Starling sat up and began to peel off her dress; pale blue cotton, three or four shades lighter than her eyes. She untied the straps and they fell, like ribbons, upon bared shoulders. Reaching down, his lover then gathered it by the skirt and gracefully slid it over her head. For a moment, she disappeared beneath the cotton and all that was visible was stomach, twitching with her efforts. Lecter allowed himself a small, longing sigh at the sight._

_Pulling herself free, Starling dropped the dress to the floor, without ceremony. The band which had been restraining her hair had come loose, causing her hair to cascade across her eyes. Golden sun shimmered along each strand. She shook it back._

_"Clarice..."_

_"Let me touch you."_

_He held out a hand, or she took it – or both, he could not remember - and she crawled to him, on her knees. Then, they were together. Starling's arms hooked around his waist, pulling herself closer. Her body was flawless in its imperfections; an asymmetrical mole on her left shoulder, the uneven curl of down on her lower belly, leading down to strands of dark pubic hair... a scratch along the base of her spine and several bruises around it. The last, a gentle mimicry of a bite-mark, was his own indiscretion._

_Breathing was more of a struggle with each passing the second. Faster. Shallower. The Doctor swallowed hard. The utter beauty of his companion had always fascinated him but in that moment she appeared almost ethereal. He was biased, of course. He was a man in love. This woman who leaned over him, fingertips gracing skin as she removed his tie, embodied beauty in his eyes. Strong and intelligent, yet humble. Her body, lithe and young, bore the marks of a life lived hard and fast. Still, her skin was still relatively unmarred, compared with the scars she wore inside._

_Starling huddled closer, pressing her face into the soft underside of his throat. Lecter loosed a loop of hair that had caught between them and flattened it gently against her back. She swallowed back an shaking breath. His respiration was just as uneven, but he was far more adept at hiding it. Faster. Shallower. Starling gave another muffled gasp as his fingers explored further down her back, tracing along the lower curve of her breast. The skin on the side of her neck fluttered with every pulsing heartbeat. It was racing._

_The tie dangled half off the bed, where she had tossed it. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway. Starling moved to continue undressing him, but he caught her wrist, blocking her reach to his waist._

_"Slo-oow,"_

_"I want this."_

_She nudged forwards, but he pulled back._

_"You are rushing, Clarice. There is no need to rush," he repeated._

_The Doctor knew the cause of her anxiety, knew why she was trying to rush, but he wanted her to voice it on her own. However, Starling seemed resolute not to speak. Her eyes searched his, confused and frustrated. Frowning._

_"Take your time."_

_She faltered, brow still furrowed, then leant forwards – slowly, purposefully – and kissed him across the lips. It was barely a touch at first, but it quickly grew harder. Starling; so afraid of loss, grasping for all she could get a hold of. She murmured his name, then captured him again. Mouth bruising his. Sweet and hot. Her tongue flicked once against his lower lip, teeth grazing, eager for more. The Doctor cradled the back of her head, responding to her hungry embraces in kind. It would all become too much for her, soon enough._

_They lasted for a minute or two more and then, just as predicted, Starling pulled back._

_"Wait,"_

_Ah, finally._

_"Hannibal, I need to know something..."_

_"Yes?"_

_Her response poured out, frantically breathless._

_"Is this just a game for you? Are you going to get bored with me, dump me in," she looked around, as if searching for inspiration, "Panama or something."_

_The accusation stung, but the Doctor hid it with an easy flick of his eyebrow._

_"Panama? Not one of my usual haunts."_

_"You know what I mean, Doctor."_

_He lessened his grip on her neck, but did not let go completely. Starling stared back up at him, eyes desperate for an answer._

_"You're not a man who likes to be bored, Hannibal."_

_"And you are not a woman who attributes deep, symbolic meaning to sexual encounters. Yet," the Doctor frowned "you approach this one as if it seals your fate. I assure you, Clarice, it does not. Your choices will remain as open afterwards as they are now." He stroked the back of her neck and tried to ignore the way their bellies touched with every breath. "I'm not going to steal your soul, Clarice." he added, the joke a softening gesture._

_A beat or two of silence._

_"It's not about sex." Starling murmured, quietly._

_"Hmm... how so?"_

_"I'd like to fuck you tonight. That's not what I'm deliberating."_

_"Oh?"_

_Lecter's eyebrows rose. It had been quite the opposite of what he had expected her to say. His blood seared in exhilaration._

_"Sorry. I'm not trying to be crude. I just wanted to explain." A gulp. "I... I need - need to feel you inside me - I-." she blushed furiously, but pushed onwards. "I'm not the naive kid you always make me feel, Hannibal, I'm a grown woman. I have wants, just like you."_

_"I respect that completely, Clarice."_

_"Whatever happens in the future, I know I want this tonight." A swallow bobbed visibly in her throat "But, I guess... I guess, I jus' want to know if I'm sleeping with you tonight as a one-time lover or as a partner." Thirty seconds loomed, then Starling spoke up again. "I don't even know if you want a partner, Dr Lecter. You work alone, you live alone, you don't seem to need anybody."_

_Another silence, punctuated by the soft noises of the Chesapeake house around them._

_"Correct me if I am wrong, Clarice, but I believe the pleasure of having a partner is that you do not__**need**__one another. You are together out of mutual desire to be so. Now, I have run on my own for a very long time. And I believe, I could go on in such a manner, indefinitely. However, something came along which brought into focus... opportunities that I had never thought possible for myself."_

_One finger stroked its way along the curve of her ear. The fold of her earlobe was so delicate. So soft._

_"So, that is 'need' taken care of. As for want... There is nothing in the world that I want more than to have you to run with me, Clarice. For a day, for a week, forever..."_

_._

Though it was a memory, the Doctor felt the rush of insecurity as strong as he had that day on the Chesapeake Bay.

_._

_"I realise that I often appear aloof, but I can feel love like any man. I have loved you for a long time, Clarice and I do not believe I shall ever stop. I will never harm you. Though you do not need it, I shall always feel the need to protect you."_

_Her smooth forehead creased delicately, eyes darting between his._

_"I will never leave you, Clarice Starling. Not by choice."_

_She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again. The raw emotion there was more powerful than any tears._

_"What was it?"_

_"Pardon?"_

_"You said something 'came along'. What was it?"_

_"I think you know the answer to that, Clarice."_

_"Indulge me," she pushed her head closer to his, cheek and nose brushing his jaw. One hand slid down him, into the slight hollow between his hip and the waistband of his pants. "Tell me...?"_

_She slipped her hand flat against the front of his pants and he tilted his pelvis forwards, in an almost a subconscious movement. The desire to respond to her touch was too strong._

_"You." in a whisper._

_Her lips curled upwards as her fingers slipped down, tracing along the curve of his semi-erect penis. She whispered his name. Soft. Low. He felt the blood flow to his groin increase exponentially as she repeated the gesture, then slid her hand further down, to cup his testes. His lover placed a tremor of a kiss against his jaw. Hot fingers, hot lips, hot palm pressed against his hot manhood. She rubbed slightly._

_"Again."_

_"Again?" he panted slightly into her hair, desperately searching for something to occupy his mind with, other than the thrills of pleasure caused by her movements. "Both presumptive and demanding, aren't you?"_

_She chuckled and slipped one leg over his, squeezing him with a toned thigh._

_"Yes. And yours."_

_"Mine?"_

_"Partner." she said, sure as he had ever heard her. And then, with a trademark 'Starling' flicker of insecurity, added; "If you'll have me."_

_So very Clarice Starling._

_"Oh, I think I might find it in myself... to have you."_

_"Good." her hand withdrew from its torturous position and slipped to his hip. "Cos it's bad manners to get a girl wound up like this then leave her wanting."_

_"Believe me, Clarice, when I say I shall do my upmost" he winked "not to leave you wanting."_

_A little smile played around her lips, but only for a moment. Then, she sat up and began to undress him in earnest._

_He was fully cooperative this time. Joining his lover in her upright position, he lifted his shirt free of the trousers. She undid the remaining buttons, he pulled it off. Teamwork. Partners. A smile danced in her eyes as she pressed herself against his chest, leaning in to kiss him again. Warm. The hardened beads of her nipples brushed his and both lovers gave a soft shiver. Pull closer. He slid his fingers against her back feeling the soft indentations of muscle and bone underneath her skin. Then, hands down to the base of her spine - seven, twelve, twenty vertebral notches marking his progress. Thumbs hooking into the waistband of her panties, he toyed with the idea of tearing them off, then denied himself that pleasure. Later. Perhaps another time. He played with them for a moment, and then slipped his hands underneath._

_The result was instantaneous. Clarice Starling squirmed in delight as his fingers brushed her buttocks, muscles contracting in anticipation. They were kneeling across from one another now; her fingers locked around his neck, his splayed out across her skin, nails digging in just enough to thrill. He dug them in a bit harder and was rewarded with a soft half-gasp, half-moan. Beta-endorphin, that precious endogenous morphine, surged through his body, re-awakening every cell. He shuddered. The scent of her was growing stronger, rushing over him. Disorientating, all consuming. No, Focus... Focus! Starling pulled closer still, allowing his hands greater mobility. Could he make her say his name?_

_The Doctor smiled to himself._

_Creeping one hand around from her buttocks, he skimmed his fingertips over the lining of her underwear. At his touch, she let slip a short trio of mewling whimpers and wiggled her hips away. But only for a second. Almost immediately, she nudged back forwards, seeking him out again. He denied her, tracing tantalising circles on her outer thigh instead._

_"Well hey, Miss Starling, exceptionally eager today are we?"_

_"Hannibal?" her voice was breathy._

_He quirked an eyebrow._

_"Yes, my dear?"_

_"Just -" she panted "out of mutual courtesy." Another pant. "I'm gonna tell you, that if you-" pant, pant "-decide to mind-fuck me, mid-coital, I will have no choice but to shoot you and use your dead body in whatever way I see fit."_

_Those words, words he had never in a million years expected to come from her lips, abolished any residual awkwardness between them. Lecter stared for a moment, and then began to laugh, quite uproariously. His lover attempted to look indignant for all of ten seconds, and then started to snigger too._

_He traced another semi-circle over her wet silk undergarments, taking care to catch his index finger on the swollen nub of flesh around her clitoris._

_"Ah-!" She panted._

_"Now, if I am banned from fucking your mind, what am I possibly to do with you, ex-special Agent Starling?"_

_The use of her title excited both of them. She groaned. He pressed his erect penis harder against her belly. The lining of his pants felt rough on the tender organ. Clothes would have to be dispensed with soon._

_"What am I to do with you, hmm?"_

_"I got a coupl'a suggestions."_

_Lecter's turn to chuckle._

_His lover let go of his shoulder and valiantly trying to extricate herself from her underwear, in a semi-graceful manner. She managed to get the ribbon undone, but slipping them off seemed to be a different matter. Her foot got stuck halfway through her shuffle and, throwing delicacy to the winds, Starling pulled them harshly free of her. One strap ripped in the process._

_"Aw, Damn."_

_The lovers fell back together and kissed in clumsy synchrony. Refinement, the Doctor knew, would come with practice. A first coupling was rarely the best, but this one held promise. He teased her bottom lip, with nimble teeth._

_"You know that was a shame. I liked those."_

_"I'll compensate, promise... Now, help me with this." impatient fingers failed at the clasp on his belt._

_Lecter gave her lips a last brush, and then pulled away._

_"Okay then, give me one moment."_

_He slipped to the edge of the bed and undressed. Shoes first, then socks. Her gaze blazed against his naked chest. With his feet bare, he turned back towards her, sliding free the belt from the belt loops and unfastening buttons and zippers. Starling's face was flushed, but her eyes lit with determination. No amount of residual Protestant embarrassment would cause her to falter now._

_Blazing eyes._

_"Come here."_

_His lover motioned for him to move closer to her position, on the side of the bed. Hooking two fingers into his trousers, she tugged them halfway down and looked up at him as she slipped her hands under the final layer separating them. She watched his eyes, rather than her hands, the entire time._

_._

Reality began to blur. Emotion overriding factual recall.

Everything is sensation.

.

_Her fingertips were far from light and his flesh was already raw with lust and want. He hissed under his breath, words in his native tongue. She investigated the previously denied parts of his anatomy with more shameless interest than he had imagined possible. Curious, yet completely knowledgeable about her effect on him. As Clarice had said before, she was in no way naive. Her fingers systematically worked over him, avoiding any regions that would prove too sensitive. Somehow – he cannot remember – the lovers made their way back to the bed, naked and trembling with anticipation. She kicked her dress and his tie from the sheets to the floor. He slid one of her legs up against his hip bone, positioning himself between her thighs._

_A kiss for her thigh. A kiss for her hand, as she tilted his face to her._

_"C'me here,"_

_He followed her coaxing, pulling himself over the lower half of her body. Her head was supported from behind by pillows, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes; twin jewels of desire. His Clarice. Finally. All his._

_"Yes?"_

_A swallow, then;_

_"Fuck me."_

_"Fuck you?"_

_A slightly bashful, but very delighted grin._

_"Senseless."_

_"Fuck. You. Senseless." he bent and bit her side softly, just under her breast._

_"Think you can accommodate that request, Doctor?"_

_She lowered one hand to his penis, between her own legs. Rolling her fingers over the shaft, she slipped the foreskin down then back again. Almost too much. A groan may or may not have escaped his throat. He closed his eyes, aching, quivering for more._

_"Hey,"_

_He opened one eye. She was looking down at him, inquiringly._

_"Love you." and with three more liquid strokes of his now fully-erect, incredibly engorged member, she rolled back over and hooked her thigh tighter against his side._

_He needed no more coaxing than that. He was propped over her before either knew what had happened. She gave a little groan of contentment as she ran her fingers over the ridges of his skull. He pressed the side of his hand against her, then curled two fingers inside. She gasped, he stroked. Her skin, her breath, the silken liquid that seeped from her; she was so hot against his trembling fingertips. Wriggling, clasping him with her thighs, she murmured words of encouragement. He picked his name out amongst her whimpers. Fingers back out, tracing secret paths across her blood-engorged, nerve-enraged skin. Wanting, so badly, just to..._

_._

A gap in memory.

Or was it really memory? Perhaps it was all just a dream...

_._

_She was rocking gently against him. He was half enveloped in her, and then buried. So tight, so hot, she was-_

_"Harder,"_

_Trembling, lust-hoarsened voice._

_Deep inside her, slipping his hand underneath her back to support the arch she makes towards him, he was almost lost to the world. Time did not exist, only sensation. Words drifted in and out of his consciousness. 'Let me'... Okay, okay. Her fingers between their bodies, where they join. His hand joining hers. There was laughter. He was glad she is comfortable enough to laugh at the groan of elation he makes. His fingers, his penis, deep inside her. She was around, against him – they kiss, tongues meeting – inside of him. He was falling. Just human, just mortal, her movements were moving him towards a breaking point._

_She was even closer. Arching, moaning in the back of her throat, exquisite; better than any of his imagined scenarios (of course he imagined scenarios). She hooked her legs more firmly around him and shifted to allow him a deeper angle. Was she leading, or he? It did not matter anymore..._

_They were almost there. Almost. Her abdomen, just above the pelvis, was twitching in short anticipating movements. He drew another breath of shared air, tasting her desperation – the soaring concentrations of pheromones in the air. This must be what love tasted like. She cried out his name, her lips remaining parted in a silent cry of pleasure. Head back. Hold on to her. Her fingers were drawing blood on his shoulder. He did not care. He was almost, just almost-_

_._

The crash of something metal sounded outside the cell door and Hannibal Lecter startled himself awake, head colliding hard with the wall he was curled against. Another crash and the sound of someone swearing reached his ears. He blinked blearily. He was in a bed, in a cell. Another blink. Alone. And he was aching in places he had not been when he had fallen asleep.

Marvelling at the inconvenience of the male body, Lecter tilted his head, looking back up to the small cell window. The sunlight had vanished and the room was now dark, except for a pale strip of fluorescent lighting that seeped in from the hallway. Night. Averting his eyes from the window, he curved his body more tightly away from any source of light.

His head was pounding from the smack against the brick wall, his shoulder aching from the way he jerked awake. His heart rate was a little faster than he would have liked and his mind burned with anger that he had lost control in such a fashion. He shifted his uncomfortable body and wondered how many years it had been since this had happened to him. Ten, fifteen? He should not have been complaining. Many men his age would have killed for an erection like he was suffering through now. Lecter rested his face against the hard mattress again and concentrated on slowing his heartbeat. The anger began to slide away. Her face lingered in his memory for longer.

The feeling of loss was familiar to the Doctor and instantly recognisable. It started as a longing in his gut and rose in painful waves through his entire body. Inside, he felt like screaming, kicking, tearing what little he had left into pieces. Outwardly, he sighed.

His body was calming now, the regulation of his heart rate doing wonders for the _'thud-thud-thud'_ of the carotid pulse in his eardrums. The throbbing in other regions of his anatomy was less than diminished. Lecter decided to divert his attentions onto other subject matter. The ceiling, for instance, and the words of Publius Vergilius Maro. Lips moving in silent recognitions of Latin, the Doctor mouthed his way through several lines of the Aeneid, tripping only once over the Dactylic hexameter.

Talibus orabat, talisque miserrima fletus  
fertque refertque soror. Sed nullis ille movetur  
fletibus, aut voces ullas tractabilis audit;  
fata obstant placidasque viri deus obstruit auris.  
Ac velut annoso validam cum robore quercum  
Alpini Boreae nunc hinc nunc flatibus illinc  
eruere inter se certant; it stridor, et altae  
consternunt terram concusso stipite frondes;  
ipsa haeret scopulis et quantum vertice ad auras  
aetherias, tantum radice in Tartara tendit;  
haud secus adsiduis hinc atque hinc vocibus heros  
tunditur, et magno persentit pectore curas;  
mens immota manet; lacrimae volvuntur inanes.

A tale of being caught between love and duty - it seemed appropriate verse to recite whilst thinking of her. He swallowed and ran through the chosen segment again, heart rate slowing further.

His breathing settled into a regular rhythm, heart thudding less painfully in his chest. He closed his eyes and blocked out any remaining light to the little room. The brief reprieve of sleep was over now. It was time to face the blackness of night. Clarice Starling's face echoed in his mind, appearing every time he shut his eyes. The Doctor sighed. His hand could form a surrogate for her touch; finish off what his mind had started for him. But no... He would let his body ache for her. Lecter pulled his knees up, to touch the wall of his cell. After all it was easier than concentrating on the aches deeper inside.

The bitter sting of loss still clinging to his thoughts, Lecter drew himself more closer against the darkness and wondered if his partner was sleeping as restlessly as he.


	25. Chapter 25

_Chapter 25 – Something good_

.

A small deli sits at the corner of Fourteenth and H Street. From the outside, the dusty red brick is slightly drab and down-at-the-heels; a good, honest, east-coast diner, frequented by Federal personnel.

Agent Benedict Vale approaches from the front, ruffling a stray autumnal leaf out of his jacket hood as he pushes through the swing door. The bell on the door-frame jingles and a rush of voices wash over him. Vale scans the room, but hears Clarice Starling before he sees her.

"You have got to be joking – he put it where?"

Vale's eyes snapped over to the booths near the deli. Seated at one of them were two men, both wearing blue uniforms, and a casually attired Clarice Starling. The two men had bottles of Coke on front of them. Starling was cradling an orange juice and half a sandwich.

"No joke, Clarice," the thinner of the uniforms laughed. "Right up."

Vale stepped inside, closed the door.

"There are some things you should not have to do for your country." At the table, Clarice Starling pulled a face and threw back her last mouthful of orange juice.

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Vale lifted his hand and gave her a wave, calling her name as he walked over.

"Hey, Starling,"

Starling and the uniforms looked up as he approached.

"Hey." She smiled.

"You called?"

"Yeah, I need to talk to you about something. I'm sorry to drag you out on your lunch break, but it's important. Just give me a moment and I'll finish up here." She finished the last bite of her sandwich and crumpled up the wrapper in her fist. "Oh-." remembering herself, Starling introduced each of the uniforms in turn. "Agent Vale, meet Jason Roe and Captain Laurence Grayson."

"G'd day Mr Roe," he inclined his head, "Lieutenant."

"Afternoon, sir."

"Af'ernoon."

There was an awkward silence between the four, as the chatter of the deli carried on around them. Vale shifted from one foot to the other, not quite sure why he had been called there.

"You know, Vale, Sergeant Roe used to work as a security guard for Securicon."

"The personal surveillance company?"

"Yup."

Vale stared for a moment, his mind spinning through all the improbable reasons why Starling was drinking with an ex security guard and his partner. Then he hit on one.

"Securicon... that was the company Senator Woodley employed?"

"Mmmhm." Starling smiled again, her expression unreadable, and set down her glass. It made a dull clunk against the Formica tabletop. "Indeed it is. Mr Roe was in town to speak to the FBI on another matter. I requisitioned him to ask him some questions on Securicon." Starling explained. "He has been extremely helpful."

Mendez again. Vale felt like rolling his eyes. Why was Starling so stuck on this case?

"Small world." He smiled tightly.

"It's no problem, miss." The younger guard spoke up, with enthusiasm. "I was in town any ways and its always a pleasure to assist the FBI."

Next to him, the older guard gave a creaky sigh.

"Right, well we've gotta be hitting the road. You needin' a ride back, Clarice?"

Vale flicked his eyes over to read Starling's reaction. She didn't seem the first name type, but her reaction to the guard was simply a polite smile.

"No thank you, Sergeant, I'll catch a ride with Vale. We're heading the same way."

So she had called him out here simply to sponge a ride? Vale wondered whether he should be offended.

"Mr Roe, Captain Grayson, thanks for meetin' up with me at such short notice. You've been real helpful."

Vale noticed that her native accent reasserted itself somewhat as she talked to them.

"Ma'am." Both guards inclined their heads.

Vale bid them his own farewell.

The two guards creaked to their feet. The Lieutenant was overweight and it took a hefty lunge to counteract the effects of gravity. The Sergeant, younger and lithe, leapt to his feet with the air of a man eager to please. He gave Starling a twitchy smile as pair of them swaggered off towards the deli counter to pay the bill.

Vale slipped into the vacated booth, trying to avoid the stains of greasy fingers on the vinyl padding.

"Nice place."

"It worked fine for its purpose."

Starling's polite fawning had vanished and was replaced with weariness. She gave a sigh and rubbed her forehead.

"So, what do you need me for?" Vale asked, after his partner made no effort to elaborate on the situation.

"Oh," She gave him sheepish look. "At risk of sounding like a bitch, I needed a ride back and didn't think I could suffer another trip with Starsky and Hutch."

"You called me for a ride?"

"I figured you still owed me for lunch last two days."

Vale considered this. He probably did.

"Ok, so why are you even here in the first place?"

"Trying to get a feel for Securicon."

"But why, Starling? The case is as good as closed."

"Then why not?" Starling shrugged. "We might as well have all the information when we send him down."

Why not? There were only about a million reasons.

"This guy killed a United States Senator's wife in cold blood. He ain't getting nothing less than the needle for that."

Starling looked away, turning her attention to the deli's window. Her eyes followed a group of students as they traipsed by, nothing on their minds but the trivial problems of the young and hopeful.

"I know what I'm doing, Vale."

Vale bit his lip. He knew what he wanted to say, but was unsure how to proceed without getting his ass shot off.

"Listen, Clarice..." He ran his hand over his chin, agitatedly. "I'm worried – and Mapp's worried – that you're getting too involved with this case."

"I know what I'm doing, Agent." She repeated, cool as liquid nitrogen.

Vale paused, and then forced himself to go on.

"For what it's worth, I agree with you on Mendez. I don't doubt that he loved her, not for a second. But that doesn't mean he didn't take that forty-eight calibre and fire it into her pretty little head. The evidence – the hard facts – shows that he blew her skull out."

"I know what the facts say."

"Then perhaps we should leave it at that."

"Sometimes, Vale, the truth is something more than what you can prove in court." Starling spoke quietly. She finally moved her eyes from the window and back onto Vale's. "He didn't fire that gun, Benedict."

"Then who-."

"I don't know, but it was not Mendez. The pathology isn't there – he's not a killer!"

"You can tell that from one interview?"

"Two."

"I see you've been carrying out your own little investigation."

"I went to see him this morning."

"So he tells you he's innocent and you just believe him? You know that when they first brought him in he blamed everyone from God to the Senator for that woman's death?"

It was a point over which the judge had tightened his jaw; an accusation of murder against Maryland's most popular bureaucrat. Senator Woodley had friends in high places, in the courtroom and beyond. White collar Maryland was a small pool the Woodley family were big fish. Mendez's accusation against the senator had been treated with such utter contempt that the Mexican had not bothered to bring it up a second time, at his final trial.

Vale sighed and thought of all the things he would rather be discussing than Ianto Mendez.

The case should be a slam-dunk. All the evidence was there; perfectly laid out to convict Mendez. So what if Mendez's pathology profile was slightly off? Profiling wasn't a cut and dry affair. And psychology seemed superfluous when you had a beautiful Senator's wife, lying dead in her scorned ex-lover's arms; the gardener's prints all over the gun that put a three inch hole through her temporal bone.

There was nothing complicated about this murder. The motive was as old as time itself; love, two men, one woman.

"He just doesn't strike me as confrontational." Starling continued, drumming her fingers absently across the formica tabletop.

"I don't know," Vale muttered, "he seemed pretty frenetic towards the end of our interview."

"Oh, come on. You provoked him, Vale – you impugned his 'great love'! He was just pissed off."

Vale groaned and leant back in his booth. The sounds of the grubby restaurant around them filtered back in through the gap in conversation.

Eventually, Starling blew out a heavy breath.

"Listen, I'm sorry, Vale – just forget about it." She yawned widely. "I'm exhausted and I'm putting two and two together an' getting five."

"It's ok." The agent replied. "And I'm sorry too, if I've been short about any of this. I do appreciate the input, you know. Your experience in profiling outstrips mine by a long shot."

Starling watched him guardedly for a moment and then let a smile curl her lips.

"Well I am a bit rusty."

Vale smiled back at her. Friendly again. It felt like a great relief.

"You ready to head back?"

"Yeah." Starling wrinkled her nose slightly. "The smell of this place is making me nauseous. Sorry for draggin' you out here." She added, a tad sheepishly.

Vale couldn't drum up any ill feelings. He was too tired and Starling had just been trying to help with the case.

"It's no problem."

"I had this chance to talk with the guards and I had to take it." She shrugged. "Ardelia said I could trust you to have my back."

Vale felt an inappropriate surge of pride.

"Happy to help."

.

Starling gave a cursory thanks to the waitress as they pushed their way out of the deli, into the lukewarm afternoon. Vale's pickup was parked halfway down the street, under an oak sapling. The sun filtered through, dappling the red panelling with light.

Once out in the car, the two agents sat for a moment, taking in the afternoon.

"Listen, Agent Starling, there's somethin' I need to tell you."

He ran a hand over the back of his head, feeling the down of his hair, longer than he was used to from long years in the Marine corps.

"Shoot." A weariness was in her eyes, like she knew what was coming.

"It's about this morning."

Starling's eyes slid off his, to the street outside, watching the dappled sun through the trees.

"We went to see Lecter at the MCAC." Vale continued.

"I know. Dee told me last night."

"Have you spoken to her since?"

"No. She's not called by. I tried her cell earlier, but got no answer."

Vale knew he shouldn't tell her. Mapp would flip. But he couldn't help but feel it was wrong to keep her in the dark.

"I don't know if she's gonna want me telling you 'bout this, but… it involves you."

"He wants to see me."

"Yes."

"He wants a deal. What did he propose?" Her voice was calm. She knew already.

Of course she knew, Vale reminded himself, she had lived with him for three years. She knew more about the guy than anyone else.

"He wants to talk to me." Starling murmured, closing her eyes, thoughtfully. "In exchange for what?"

"A guilty plea."

"What?" Her eyes opened and met his own, suddenly angry.

"He'll plea guilty and submit to psychiatric evaluation, to prove he is sane, if he can have a face-to-face with you. Just the two of you. One-one-one."

"But a guilty plea as a sane man – fourteen counts of murder one – that's the Death Penalty, no possible reprieve!"

Startled by her outburst, Vale remained quiet for a moment or two.

"He'll probably try an' back out of it."

"No," Starling shook her head, her voice calmer this time. "He wouldn't, not if he's given his word."

Vale's eyebrow jerked.

"His word?"

"He's..." Starling struggled for the right words. "He's just like that. He wouldn't go back on his word, not if you stuck to yours. He would consider such behaviour beneath him. He has this highly defined moral code."

"No kiddin'?" Vale muttered sarcastically.

"That said, I'd examine the terms of his deal pretty carefully. If he's left a loop hole and you miss it," she laughed coolly "he'd see using it as being entirely justified."

Vale wondered whether everyone talked about their cannibal captors this lightly, post-abduction.

"He's a true sociopath, huh?"

Starling glanced over and hummed enigmatically.

"Either way," he shrugged, in an effort to appear nonchalant. "The deal's not going to happen. Ardelia's not biting."

The smallest of smiles appeared on Starling's lips.

"I'll bet." She sighed.

"I just thought you should know."

Vale turned the key in his ignition and grimaced at the rusty rumbling of the pickup's engine. The turnover, with each rotation, shook the suspension and sent shudders up through seats up front.

"Thanks, Vale."

With a nod, he pulled the pickup into gear and pulled out into the slow afternoon traffic. Beside him, Starling pulled one leg across the other and folded her arms across her belly. It was a subconscious protective gesture. Vale wondered whether she even knew she was doing it. He had found out about the baby from Ardelia, during the earliest weeks of Starling's liberation. Starling had never said a thing about it, so he had chosen not to ask. They were colleagues. It would have been inappropriate.

Starling sighed wistfully as she gazed out the window. Whatever she was thinking of had brought a ghost of a smile to her lips. Vale wondered to himself, what things that could make Clarice Starling smile, after all that she had been through. Perhaps, a secret too precious to share?

He hoped it was something good.

.

Clarice Starling's eyes travelled over buildings and faces, dancing across patches of light and shade. The smoothness of the road, and the lull of the engine beneath her, lent itself to quiet contemplation. The world behind the windows seemed distant and surreal, bathed in sunlight and painted in colours too vibrant to be true. The sun itself was low in the sky, perhaps too low for it to be considered summer. Autumn, then, pondered Starling. She caught sight of a tree and, in passing, noted that its leaves were beginning to yellow at the tips. Beautiful. Dark green veins running from each other, spreading outwards into the extremities of each leaf finger. Each leaf was segmented delicately; a symmetry that only nature could obtain. Infinitely perfect.

Starling sighed. She hoped Hannibal had a view.

Beside her, in the car, Vale's forehead had darkened with a soft frown. Starling watched her new partner in the passenger mirror, aware that he was too occupied in his own mind to know she was watching. His frown deepened, and mouth twitched, forming the shadows of words unspoken. A tiny smile and his forehead smoothed for a moment, then another frown. Whatever he was thinking of was consuming all of his attentions, because he almost missed their turn off, and was forced to jerk back to reality with a guilty expression, when the sedan behind them honked their horn.

"Asshole."

Starling stifled a smile. She liked Vale. Sharing the Woodley case, especially with her, had not come easy to him. He was a keen worker and a good Agent but he was young and his mind was closed to possibilities beyond his experience. His profile on Mendez stuck primarily to the FBI textbook, and he seemed loathe to deviate from it. Starling wondered what had drawn him to the Behavioural Sciences unit in the first place - he seemed more of a field agent than a profiler. She had the quietest, most carefully unvoiced, opinion that Ardelia Mapp had something to do with it.

"Vale?"

He glanced over; expression young and uncomplicated. She had pulled him from another reverie.

"Yup?"

"I want you to broker the deal with Lecter's attorney."

"You want me to what?" Vale asked tentatively, though he knew what she was talking about.

"It's going to get you your sentence, Vale, so I'll see him."

She had given the subject much consideration. Lecter's request was, after all, inevitable – he knew it was what was expected of him. He had made his request under the assumption that Starling was going to do as he had told her to do and move on with her life. But if there was one thing that Clarice Starling had been repeatedly rebuked for, all her life, it had been her headstrong attitude in the face of instructions she disagreed with.

Escape plans had been slower in forming than Starling had originally counted on. But her diligent work over the last few weeks, using the FBI's extensive blueprint collections and inside information, had paid off. One of the main flaws in her plan was how to deliver it to her incarcerated lover. After all, Starling could hardly send the instructions for Lecter's escape in an email or a letter. She needed a more subvert method. And nothing was so subvert as the blatantly obvious. She would tell him herself.

The FBI had protocols to follow. They would grant him a preliminary meeting with her to prove their allegiance to the deal. Starling knew that agents would be monitoring the exchange too closely for her to slip him anything there, but – as she had ascertained from Vale earlier, Lecter had asked for a private meeting. No speakers, just the two of them. Lecter would be cuffed, but he could hear as well as the next man. She would have her method of delivering the plans.

Less rational impulses spurred her to agree to the deal, also. The desire to see his eyes again, and hear his voice, was overpowering.

"Will you do it?" she asked her partner.

Next to her in the car, Vale swallowed slightly.

Starling knew that he was deeply uneasy with the 'Lecter' subject. To add to the already understandable discomfort of the situation, she suspected that Mapp had also told him about her pregnancy. Every now and then she caught him glancing down at her abdomen, during conversation about Lecter. But, despite these slight indiscretions and the slight awkwardness, Vale had made a commendable effort. Unlike some of her other colleagues, he did not actively avoid the subject. Nor did he make a spectacular exit of the room if Lecter came up in conversation. He was kind and always courteous. Really, thought Starling, Mapp could do much worse than Benedict Vale.

"Starling, are you sure?"

She nodded, careful to keep her expression neutral.

"Hannibal Lecter doesn't make deals lightly, Vale. If you agree, then he will hold his end of the bargain up. He will sit those evaluations and he will score as a sane man."

"You think he's sane, then?"

Starling fixed Vale with a stare. Despite his work in tracing Lecter down, he really didn't understand the first thing about her dark paramour.

"It doesn't matter what he is. He knows those tests inside out. He could appear as anything he chose to." She lifted the intensity of her gaze from his face and added, with a sigh. "But yes, I think he is sane."

Vale pulled up to a red traffic light, allowing the engine to idle.

"And Vale?"

He looked over at her. Starling felt a prick of worry at the glimmering of ambition in his eyes.

"Don't try and play him. And keep up your end of the deal. If he wants to see me, face-to-face, you give him it. If he wants one-on-one, with no microphones, you give him it. Vale," She cut him off as he began to speak. "And don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing. He'll be in restraints and I'll be ok." She bit her lip before adding what she felt might be a slightly too-dramatic line. "If I've managed through the last three years I think I can manage another thirty minutes with him."

Vale's eyes did another nervous flicker, and then he set a strong jaw and nodded firmly.

"And I can't change your mind 'bout this?"

"Nope." Starling threw him a wry smile. "I'll just go over your head, straight to Pearsall."

"Can you do that?"

"Can and will."

A moment or two passed.

"You do know Ardelia's gonna have kittens when she finds out 'bout this, right?"

"I'll be the one to tell her." How she was going to do that and not get shot, Starling was not entirely sure, but she knew it had to be her who did the deed. "I'll leave your name out of it – say I heard about the deal on the grapevine or something." She added.

Vale looked relieved.

Above them, the traffic light turned to amber, then green. Vale gunned the engine as they pulled out onto Pennsylvania Avenue, pointing them towards the Hoover building. More trees flickered past, their leaves a little more yellow than the ones they had passed earlier. Starling folded her arms more tightly against one another.

So it was decided. She would meet with him. He would plead guilty. He would be sentenced and stay in the MCAC. She had researched long and hard on what would happen to a death row inmate. Protocol demanded that they were kept in single cells, but not in solitary. And, as it turned out, the only place suitable for housing a man such as Hannibal, in Maryland, where he was to be tried, was the same Supermax facility he was now in. The same prison she had full blueprints and personnel deployment plans for... The same block that ex-Securicon guard Jason Roe now worked on.

Starling disguised her shiver of pleasure as a yawn. Maybe she could bring Hannibal a leaf when she visited. He would like that.


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter 26 – Madness_

.

In the time honoured fashion of a woman needing to break really bad news to her best friend, Ardelia Mapp decided that the best approach to the situation would be to drink perilous amounts of alcohol.

Leaving early from work, she stopped by the local 7-eleven and picked up two bottles of Chardonnay, from the sale rack, and an industrial size bag of Cheetos. In theory, one of the bottles of wine was for Starling, and the snacks were for sharing, but, upon arriving home, the stressed FBI agent threw herself onto the couch, flipped on ESPN and proceeded to eat her way through three-quarters of the bag and one and the entire first bottle of wine. Needless to say, by the time Starling made her appearance, rather closer to nine than her estimated time of seven, Mapp was fairly relaxed – both in body and speech capabilities.

She heard, rather than saw, Starling arrive. Or rather, Starling and Vale. Returning triumphant from the local sports bar they chatted like old friends as they made their way towards the kitchen. It was a strange dynamic that was beginning to build between the pair. Though, in the FBI's eyes, Vale was the senior of the two agents (being newly reinstated, Starling's employment was still probationary) Starling was, rather obviously, in charge. Mapp was not surprised by this power shift. Starling had experience and she was the elder of the two, by a good seven or so years, and she had never been one to shy away from leadership. How quickly Starling had eased up around the younger man was a different story, and remained a bit of a mystery to Mapp. Clarice Starling didn't do bars and coffee and socialising after work hours. She didn't do 'buddy'.

Mapp rolled off the couch and threw herself upright, stumbling the first three steps to the door. What in Gods' name was Clarice up to? She was a pregnant barely-reinstated FBI Agent with countless years of therapy ahead of her; an odd time to take up a social life. Mapp strode through, pushing the door open, a tad violently, with the heel of her hand.

"Clarice?"

Mapp entered the kitchen.

"Hi Dee."

"Hey there, Ardelia."

"Hi… uh, Vale. Uh… What're you doin' here?"

"He's just dropping me off." Starling smiled.

"So…" Mapp folded her arms over her chest, dimly aware through her mild inebriation that she was only wearing shorts and a tank top and that it was pretty cold in the kitchen. "So how's the case going? How's it looking for Mendez?" she forced herself to make conversation.

"Not good." Starling sighed, sloshing milk into two mugs of coffee she had been making.

"He's fucked." Vale added, eloquently, leaning back against the counter.

Starling rolled her eyes at the younger agent and handed him his mug.

"So, he's going down?"

"Yup."

Leaning back against the closed door of her living room, Mapp pulled on what she hoped to be an interested and non-drunken expression.

"I thought you were pushing for a retrial?"

"Evidence says he did it, Dee," Starling sighed, "I can't argue with the facts."

There was a slight coolness about her words that Mapp could not quite place; a lack of faith in what had come out her own mouth? Perhaps it was simply weariness.

"Senator Woodley and his merry men have put a rush on the trial. He'll be in court within the next few days."

With every passing second, Mapp was becoming more aware of her state of relative undress; sans underwear, she felt particularly exposed to Vale's scrutiny. And he was looking. Searching the room for something to talk about, his eyes had drifted once or twice over her body. Not long enough to call him on. It would have been flattering, if her body hadn't shivered each time he did it.

Mapp tried to reprimand herself… but her body had other ideas. Charlie, her on-off boyfriend, was in Seattle for some law conference. She didn't have the money or time to visit him. He'd been away for almost six weeks now, and he hadn't seen him for seven. Denied that sexual outlet, her body responded to a man's gaze far more intensely than usual. The bottle of wine she drank earlier was probably not helping either.

Mapp shivered. Abstinence was a bitch. And Vale…

Mapp scanned her ex-partner's jeans and bomber jacket. Under the thin fabric of his T-shirt, she could easily pick out the toned lines of his body, the soft swell of muscle that delineated the end of his rib cage.

…Vale looked good.

The conversation turned to old times, working the Lecter case. They chatted for ten minutes, before Mapp realised that Starling had been sitting on the counter near the sink, cradling her mug of coffee and watching them, rather than joining in the conversation, for almost five minutes.

Vale was busy replying to a message on his phone.

"You ok?" Mapp mouthed at her housemate.

Starling gave a dismissive wave of the hand and mouthed 'fine', back.

Liar, Mapp thought, but nodded in response.

"Right." Vale snapped his phone shut and downed the rest of his coffee. "I've gotta run, gotta be in early tomorrow." He tried to put his emptied coffee mug into the clean dishwasher, but Starling rescued it. "They want me to teach some of the students a few tricks out on the range."

"Really?" Mapp showed surprise. The FBI usually enlisted far more experienced Agents for gun training. Only one year out of the Academy, Vale was barely more than a student himself.

"Marines do it better." Vale joked wryly, forming a 'gun' with his index finger and thumb.

Marine snipers do.

Since they had worked together on the Lecter case, Mapp had the opportunity to look through Benedict Vale's personnel file. She had picked through it with a fine-tooth comb, looking for answers to all the things she had been too shy to ask.

Benedict Joshua Vale had graduated from High School in Trenton, NJ, and joined the US Marine Corps two days after his eighteenth birthday. After training, Private Vale served a year in Iraq and Kuwait, then three, on a 'Special Reaction Team' in South Korea, alongside the United States Army. His missions there were listed as 'For Official Use Only'. Mapp doubted that, even if she jumped three pay scales, she would be allowed access.

Vale had mentioned before that he was a sniper, but the reality had only truly hit when she read through that folder. Almost three-quarters of his information was 'classified'. How many people had he killed? What had happened out there, on barren Iraqi sands? Desert Storm; God, he had been twenty at the time. Twenty. Barely more than a kid. The thought was sobering.

Mapp had thought back to what she was doing at nineteen. Slobbing around campus, doing her best to learn about Public Policy, at UVa. And in 1990, when he was fighting in the blood and sand, where was she? Holed in the Hoover building, was the answer; fighting through the piles of paperwork.

When Vale made the comment about Marines, Mapp had purposefully refrained from saying anything aloud. He was always a little hesitant to talk about his time in the Corps. She had always taken it for granted that they would eventually talk about it, that, in time, two partners got close enough to share that sort of stuff. But, after finding Starling, possibilities of them becoming closer were dashed. Mapp had been promoted and offered a place on Violent Crime – where she had been trying to get for ten years – and Vale had been allowed to continue in the Behaviour Analysis Unit.

Actually, thinking about it now, Mapp realised that Vale and Starling had now been partners for longer than she had Vale had been. For some stupid reason, it saddened her. Get a grip, Ardelia, she thought to herself.

Mapp cleared her throat and changed the subject.

"You two in court tomorrow then?"

"Yeah. Mendez at eleven. The last stand." Starling yawned. That quiet discontent that Mapp had spotted earlier was back again, hidden, this time, by a veil of indifference.

"Still, you can't say you didn't try your best, Starling."

"No, I cannot." She yawned again. "Right. I'm going to bed. I'll leave you two to it." She turned to Vale. "You can see yourself out, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Great. And remember, Pearsall wants a blow-by-blow on our evidence, so he'll want to know why we're presenting a counter-argument."

"I'll tell Pearsall what to blow." Vale muttered.

Starling gave her partner a slightly reproachful look.

"Goodnight, Vale."

Placing her coffee mug on the counter, she made her way to the door, lifting a finger to wave at Mapp across the room.

"G'night, Dee."

"Night," Mapp called back. Then, remembering what she had filled herself up with alcohol to do, Mapp lifted a hand and called out, "No, wait, hang on, Clarice!"

Starling looked back.

"Yeah?"

"I need to borrow you for a sec."

Vale, who was quicker at sensing an awkward moment than anyone else Mapp had ever met, walked quickly to the door.

"I'll see myself out."

The three agents bid their farewells and then Vale left, leaving Mapp and Starling alone in the kitchen.

Starling turned to Mapp.

"It's about the deal, isn't it?"

The rest of the conversation had not gone well. Mapp had ranted, stamped and screamed, but Starling had only responded in the same calm, composed and incredibly irritating voice of reason.

"But you can't!" Mapp had resorted to, throwing her arms wide before rubbing her tired, drunken face with the palms of her hands. "Clarice, what the hell is goin' through your mind, girl? You can't do this – you shouldn't do this."

"Ardelia. I have to."

"No, Clarice, you don't! I won't let you put yourself through this again. I wont' let him hurt you this time!"

In the wake of her words, a silence passed between the pair of them. In that moment, Starling looked more tired than Mapp had ever seen her. Tired and sad. When she spoke, she spoke softly, with a voice full of quiet resolve.

"Listen, I'm going to bed now, Dee. We can discuss this tomorrow. I need a few hours." Then, checking her watch, Starling informed her that she would be up at six and that Mapp would be welcome to join her for breakfast to discuss the matter.

"But…" Mapp finally managed.

"Until then," Starling added, overriding another attempt at words from Mapp, "the subject is closed."

And with that, Starling bid her goodnight and slipped back into her side of the duplex, closing the door carefully behind her.

Mapp remained where she was, rooted out of disbelief. The calmness with which Starling was approaching this was ridiculous. Mapp felt as if she was trying to reason with a crazy woman.

"This is madness!" she called out after her friend.

The words echoed, un-replied, in the empty kitchen. Mapp gave a short scream of frustration and kicked the kitchen table. The infantile movement did nothing except give her a sore heel.

"Madness." Mapp spluttered again. Then, blowing out a heavy lungful of air, she stormed back through to her living room.

She threw herself back down on the couch and shut her eyes tight. When Starling had decided something, there was no point in arguing with her. Yet, she would go through tomorrow morning and try and talk her out of it – even if she knew it was in vain. After all, that is what friends are for.

Cursing Starling, Vale and, most of all, the infamous cannibal who had brought all of this down upon them, Mapp dug in for the night. Pulling the second bottle of cheap wine towards her, Mapp twisted the top open and took a hearty swig. Cheap, tasteless and absolutely perfect for its purpose.

ESPN blared in the background. She would decide what to say and be prepared for tomorrow morning. She would convince Starling. She would make her see the right thing to do. Mapp took another long draught of wine. It was going to be a long night.


	27. Chapter 27

_Chapter 29 – Kade_

.

Fuelled with coffee and twinkies, Starling arrived at the city courts with an air of resolution.

Inside, the halls were busy, as was usual for a Friday morning. Lawyers in black suits and ties rushed back and forth, trying to get things filed before the weekend lull. As Starling through the glass doors, into the masses, she saw that Vale waiting for her. Standing off to one side of the entrance hall, he looked quite apart from all the activity.

"What's up with the tie?" she asked as she drew nearer.

Her partner was wearing a vivid orange tie with a black suit. The ensemble clashed so horribly that it was almost edgy.

"It's a festive touch."

Starling glanced about herself, wondering if she had missed an important memo.

"It's the thirty-first today, Starling... Halloween?" Vale reminded.

Starling shook her head.

"Of course." She'd been working seven days a week for the past month. As the days passed, she had lost track of dates and days of the week. "I've been busy. Completely forgot."

"We're still on for tonight though?"

"Of course." Starling said again, although she had forgotten all about that too.

About a week ago, she had promised an evening of bad Halloween movies, popcorn and beer. Though they were attending the final trial today, Starling had not realised that it was already Halloween.

There went her evening's work.

"I bought beer and popcorn on the way in." Vale informed her, excitedly.

"Good. I've got candy and stuff, in case kids come 'round."

Starling looked around herself, at the cavernous hall.

The entrance to the court building clad in marble and gleaming stone – many of them engraved with words in latin that she could not understand. A statue of lady justice stood in an alcove to one side. Great oak doors led off to the maze of corridors that fed through the building. Starling regulated her breathing carefully. Knowing what she was planning felt like carrying a pack of semtex in her handbag – there was always the constant fear of being discovered. And the fear was never stronger than when she was standing here in the courts.

Beside her, Vale was still speaking; something about his car. Starling pulled her eyes away from the inscriptions over the main courtroom doors and focussed on him.

"I had to use duct tape on the bumper yesterday," Vale offered conversationally, "can't afford to bring the damn thing in to fix up. My mortgage is killing me slowly."

Starling's eyes were drawn to his tie again. It truly was horrid. She wondered if he had worn it to the Lecter hearing earlier that day. Starling could only imagine what her lover had thought of her colleague's taste in clothing. A smile stretched onto her lips.

"What you grinnin' at?"

Vale's voice brought her back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"I said 'this is the second time I've had to make this drive today' and you start grinnin' away to yourself."

"Away in my own world, sorry." Starling shook her head. "So… how did the hearing go, this morning?"

"Okay." He shrugged.

Starling could tell that Vale was uneasy talking about Lecter with her around.

"The lawyer bitched at us for an hour about technicalities, but the deal's going through."

"Yeah, Pearsall called me this morning, after you were out. I'm to make the preliminary visit tomorrow, at noon."

Vale sensed, correctly, that she did not want to discuss the matter further. He changed the subject.

"How you feelin' about court?"

Mention of the impending trial was enough to scrub any remnants of a smile from Starling's face. She knew there was only one possible outcome and she didn't like it. She especially didn't like her part in it, but it was an unfortunate necessity. It was a necessity that Mendez should be convicted and sentenced to death because it would lead to his transfer to the MCAC's high security block... the same block of cells where the infamous Dr Hannibal Lecter was resided.

She needed an in and Mendez was a perfect fit.

"I'm feeling okay. Got everything prepared."

As they talked, a prison van drove slowly past the courthouse, to the side entrance. The windows were tinted, but the photographers knew who was inside. They swarmed in, slowing the vehicle's progress as it descended the ramp to under the courthouse. Voices called out and cameras flashed.

"They're really gunning for him. Did you see the papers this morning?" Vale asked.

"I didn't need to." Starling folded her arms across her chest as she watched the reporters clambering for a better shot. "They've been saying the same thing for weeks. He'll go down hard."

As the prison van disappeared from view, another figure drew the press's attention. This figure was tall and wide. It was preceded up the steps by smaller figures in black, who cut a path through the swarming journalists. From such a distance Starling could not be sure, but she suspected it was Senator Woodley.

"The prosecution are gunning for capital punishment." She mused aloud, watching Woodley give a short statement. "Our evidence clinches the deal."

Vale looked uneasy.

"So, how many of these trials have you testified at before?"

Starling finally realised why he was so twitchy.

"This your first hearing?"

Vale nodded.

"They're no big deal, really. I've testified at a dozen or so – although some o' them were tribunals, so I'm not sure they count."

"It just feels like an awful big case to be walking in green." Vale shuffled, hands in his pockets.

Starling shot him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

"You'll be fine."

"Yeah," He hastened to add, "I ain't worried or nothin'. It's just, well, you know..."

"Yeah. I know."

Vale cleared his throat softly to himself and set to adjusting his shirt sleeves.

"You got your bit, to say, all prepared?"

"Yeah. Got fucking notes and all." He shot her a nervous grin. "It's like being back at school. Remember class presentations?"

She chuckled.

"Sure do. Hated 'em."

"Yeah. Standing up while everyone sat and looked up at you, waiting for you to screw it all up."

"Worst part was when the teacher asked questions."

"No – worse – when half the class was your buddies and you know if you do well, you're gonna get punched for being a dork and picked last in gym."

Starling elected not to tell her partner that she had never had to worry about half the class being her buddies, and that she had always been picked last in gym.

"Yeah…"

In a lot of ways, life hadn't changed much since grade school. No one wanted to play in the sand box with Starling.

A loud buzz broke the awkward silence. Starling dug through her pocket and flipped out her phone. A message displayed on the screen. She read it aloud.

"Pearsall wants us up to ass-kiss with the senator for ten minutes before the hearing. They're up in room five-eleven"

Encountering no less than five reporters who wanted to talk to Starling, the two agents made their way up to the fifth floor. As promised, room eleven was full of the hum of male voices – faceless suits, milling around one another in a dance of self-congratulation.

Vale pushed open the door and the two Agents entered.

At the centre of the room, surrounded on almost every side, was Senator Kade Woodley. Starling had read his file, but was still surprised by his appearance. Kade Woodley was a big man. At least six-five and built like the football star he had been at college. He was physically imposing and his character did nothing to lessen it. Financially worth more than all the other men in the woman; Woodley knew it. He walked with a strut. Thumbs hooked into the waistband of his tailored designer pants, he looked the very picture of macho virility.

"Agents," the disembodied voice of Clint Pearsall floated to her attention.

Starling turned her head and spotted him loitering at the far left of the room. They strode over. Pearsall looked vexed, beneath the façade.

"Good afternoon, Agents, good to see you."

"Sir." They both greeted him.

"The Senator would like to put faces to names before y'all go take the stand. Oh," he introduced the man at his side with a wave of his hand. "This is Elijah Hersch, the prosecution."

The lawyer stepped forwards, extending a bony hand to Starling and Vale in turn.

"He'll be questioning you. He shouldn't really be up here right now, but courts are in recess and Kade wanted a few words."

Starling was willing to guess that whatever 'Kade' wanted, 'Kade' got.

"Agent Starling, if you could, just-," Pearsall indicated that he wanted her move over towards Woodley's pool of men.

The small party made their way over into Woodley's shadow. The prosecution lawyer led the way, cutting a path through the body guards as he went. He came to stand next to the Senator, comedically short in comparison.

"Senator?" Pearsall greeted him with a handshake.

"Please, please," Woodley flashed teeth, "call me by my first name, Clint. We've known each other long enough."

His voice was deep baritone and smooth as molasses. Starling noted that his smile did not quite reach his piercing grey eyes.

"All right," polite laugh from Pearsall, "_Kade_, these are my Agents."

How quickly they became 'his' agents, when times favoured.

"Agent Clarice Starling," Pearsall tilted his head towards Starling, who extended a hand to greet the Senator. Her fingers were like a child's inside the span of his hands. "And this is Agent Benedict Vale, who was involved in closing the Lecter case." Vale shook the Senator's hand also.

The lawyer stepped forwards and took over.

"These two agents work for Agent Hodgins, Senator, in Behavioural science unit. They'll be givin' testimony against Ianto Mendez." Hersch's folded bony hands neatly across his front.

"I see." The senator nodded.

His eyes fixed on Starling and she felt a wash of colour paint her face, at the recognition. She forced a smile, knowing that he had read all the newspapers and that he knew all about her rise and fall from grace.

"So, behavioural analysis, huh?" the Senator adjusted his gigantic body, shifting onto his opposite foot. "Does that make you guys shrinks or FBI agents?"

"Uh, FBI profilers, sir," Starling smiled, tautly. "So a little bit of both."

"Great stuff," he gave her another one of those cold toothy grins. "Just great."

Light grey eyes flickered between them.

"So, was there anything you wanted to ask us, Senator?" Vale asked, stepping forward.

"No, Agent." Woodley hooked his thumbs into his belt, squaring off massive shoulders. "Just needed to see that my witnesses are sound of mind an' body." A cocksure grin. "I like to get to know my team personally. For you guys to be more than names on paper. I mean, you do all the heavy lifting, right?"

This had to be his election speech, surely.

"I want you to be able to come and talk to me, personally. I don't want anyone to feel like they aren't being heard, you know?"

Starling suppressed a gag reflex.

"I want to know what's going on at all the levels of this team, ya know? Top to bottom." Another grin.

Vale was nodding. Pearsall and the lawyer were watching the senator raptly.

Starling looked between them all, marvelling at the ease with which Woodley had established himself as alpha male. It was effortless; a simple, thinly veiled statement that he was higher than them in the food chain, immediately followed by the cushioning willingness to overlook his superiority… Giving without really giving.

There was no doubt in Starling's mind, as to how Kade Woodley had achieved his position. He was charming and, despite the dumbed-down speech patterns, he wasn't stupid. Starling suspected that the exaggerated 'average joe' appearance was no more than a façade. She wasn't sure what lay underneath yet, but she had the nagging feeling she wouldn't like it.

She did not have much time to dwell on her thoughts. No sooner had he spoken to them, than Kade Woodley was whisked off by a young black man, voicing something about a press appearance. Pearsall reached out, steering the two Agents away from Woodley and back to the doorway.

"Excellent. Good." He was rubbing his hands together. "You two better head downstairs. Well done Starling." He clapped her on the shoulder, then backed into room five-eleven and closed the door behind him; more or less in their faces.

The noise of the room was immediately cut off – only the faintest of muffled hums audible. Starling and Vale stood for a moment, staring at the oak grain and then Starling turned to her partner.

"Well, I guess that was it."

"Yeah…"

The whole experience rather looked as if it had washed over Vale. He tried so hard at appearing tough that Starling sometimes forgot he was new to the bureaucracies of the FBI.

"Well, that was fun."

Starling gave Vale a little smile and the two Agents headed off down the hall, bemoaning Pearsall and the inadequate government defence lawyer, who was going to be standing for Mendez.

"Kade Woodley could eat him alive."

Starling smiled grimly. She had to agree.

.

The trial went as expected, more or less. From their third-row seats, Vale and Starling watched the first half of the proceedings, before being called to the box.

Testifying was not as difficult Starling expected it to be. Perhaps, it was because she had practiced what she was going to say about a hundred times over the last few days. Or perhaps, it was because the outcome was already as good as decided; it did not matter what Clarice Starling brought before the jury. Mendez had been in the paper for months with the word 'guilty' under his face. There was only ever one way the verdict was going to swing.

And swing it did. Mendez went down for murder one – punishable by the death penalty in Maryland. Despite having been investigated by the FBI, his crime was not a federal one. He had never crossed state lines, nor was the crime committed on federal property. He would stay in the MCAC, awaiting appeal and, eventually, death by lethal injection.

There hangs an innocent man… Starling watched the gavel bang with a mixture of relief and shame.

"That's that, then." Vale had whispered as it landed.

His unease was based around the fact that the trial was moving swifter than it should have. What with the heavy media attention and Senator Kade Woodley's financial sway, certain aspects of the process – such as waiting for court dates – had been waived. Mendez had to be the quickest sentencing of the century and that didn't sit well with Vale. Youth and idealism. Time in the FBI would flatten that right out of him, thought Starling.

She watched her partner's face as the sentence was passed – glad of an excuse not to lock eyes with Mendez.

Post-sentencing, the two agents made their way to the back exit, to avoid the media swarms at the front of the courthouse building. Turning into the back reception, they came face to face with Mendez's leaving party. He stood – clad in orange, with arms clasped together by their binding at the wrist. In the midst of the chaos, shoulders stooped and back hunched, he looked lost. He was dwarfed by an escort of no less than sixteen armed guards; great mammoths of men, who towered over him in Kevlar.

Starling hovered near the door as they passed, considering whether she ought to go in and say a few words to the man she had condemned. But he was passed and bundled downstairs before she could think of anything suitable.

"Come on, Starling, let's go."

.

They rode separately back to the Hoover building. Starling spent a couple of hours making some very important phone calls. One, to an ex-securicon guard who she intended on becoming friendlier with. And the other, to a shadowy man she had first encountered through her time spent in the fraud department of the FBI; Mr F Olson, who could reportedly fake any identification card known to man.

The calls took less time than she expected, so after she finished, she spent some time running through the vast piles of paperwork on her desk. She filled them out in her fastest scrawl. Tidiness was only essential when you were still going to be at your place of employ long enough to get rebuked.

At around five, Vale's face appeared around the edge of her small, square office.

"Hey, we still on for tonight?"

"Drinks and bad movies?" Starling set down her pen decisively. "Come on, now, Vale. You know I wouldn't miss Night of the Lepus – not if the world depended on it!"

Vale laughed.

"Cool. I've got that surprise for you, too."

Starling frowned.

"Yeah? Do I get a hint?"

"Nope." Vale grinned, very pleased with himself.

"Ok, fine. You be over by seven, then, ok?" Starling sighed and began to gather her possessions from around the desk. "Mapp's making enchiladas and she gets all antsy when people are late."

"I'll bring the popcorn." Vale turned to leave, then turned back. "Do you want me to bring some of my Halloween collection?"

"Are they any good?" Starling asked, and immediately regretted it.

"Are they good? Of course they're good. I have impeccable taste."

Starling looked pointedly at his tie.

"Hey, this is a fantastic tie."

Starling chuckled.

"Okay, then. Hang on a sec and you can walk me out."

Starling gathered her things and they walked off together, towards the underground car park, still chatting amiably; Vale outlining the attributes of Saw 2 and Starling musing to herself on the complexity of jailbreaks.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28 - 304

_._

Each new addition to the high security block was treated to the same routine. Upon entering through the double white-painted iron gates, they would be led - in cuffs, chains and other restraining paraphernalia - past all of the other cells and right to the end of the block. Only then would they be allowed to turn around and walk back to their own cell. For the unfortunate, this meant that they had to do two lengths of the place, heckled from prisoners on either side and harassed by the guards leading them. It was an unpleasant experience, to say the least.

But, for the man currently being led down the row, the ritual intimidation and humiliation seemed far from mind.

From his own cell, Doctor Lecter watched the proceedings. He sat on the end of his small cot bed, hands folded in his lap, back straight. His gaze, which had been fixed on the slow progress of a spider, crawling above his neighbour's food dispensary tray, was now riveted on the two white-clad guards. He followed them and their orange-clad captive's progress as they passed his cell - first in one direction, then the other - and came to stop outside the empty cell, diagonally across from his own.

The man held in manacles and chains between the two beefy guards looked to have seen better days. A beaten man. Whatever mischief had landed him in the joint looked to have been too much for him. The Doctor estimated him at thirty years old - give or take a couple of years, to account for possible malnutrition. He was slim through the leg, and bony, but the breadth of his forearms suggested power. Manual labour, the Doctor decided, rather than the vanity of the weight-room. Lecter's eyes grazed over the back of the man's hands, picking out pigmentation from the sun. A craftsman, perhaps.

Prisoner 304 (the Doctor found it most convenient to think of his fellow incarcerates by their cell numbers) was of Mexican descent, with skin made darker by the sun's light. The Doctor was forbidden access to newspapers, but the felons in neighbouring cells were not, and news travels fast in places where nothing happens. He knew of Ianto Mendez and he knew of what Mendez was reported to have done.

Incidentally, the Doctor also knew of Senator Kade Woodley. He had met Woodley, personally, many years ago when the man was a local politician in Baltimore. From what he knew of Senator Kade Woodley, the Doctor suspected that Ianto Mendez would not be here for long. The appeals process for Mr Mendez was as good as non-existent.

As he stood, awaiting his cell to be prepared, prisoner 304 stared ahead, eyes wandering aimlessly. They came to rest on the gutters that ran, length-ways, down the hall. Perhaps it was the bleak allusion to the slaughterhouse, or perhaps a deeper, more secret fear; either way, 304's throat bobbed, cricoid cartilage rising then falling again. This smallest of swallows and the tensing of his shoulders were both picked up by the intelligent maroon eyes fixed on him from across the corridor.

Around the two silent men, the rest of the prison block was far from tranquil. The man in the cell to the left of Doctor Hannibal Lecter, was leading his other neighbours in a charming rendition of prison vulgarities - voicing a great many things which would have been far more threatening had they all been situated in general population and shared communal showering facilities. As his luck would have it, 304 was to be held in solitary confinement, like Lecter. Kade Woodley's sway again, no doubt.

The Doctor yawned. The sound of his ears popping gave him brief reprieve from a particularly offensive verse of his fellow felons'... (he felt loathe to call it a song, even in his own inner musings)... 'chant'.

A quick word into the guard's walkie-talkie and the door made a buzzing noise. A hoot went up from the prisoners surrounding. Another beep. The door slid open; all automated, of course. The Doctor's eyes trailed over the bar-codes printed on the guard's keycards. Escape would take far longer to plan and prepare for that he could afford - or rather, far longer than the US government cared to spend on keeping him alive. Theoretically, it would be cheaper than what they planned on doing with him. Three grams of sodium thiopental, plus the costs of medical officers, the venue, the transport there...

The clang of iron-on-iron sounded through the hall, ricocheting harshly off concrete walls.

Once the door was fully opened, guard one - a fat and yeasty man, with greasy thinning hair - led 304 inside. Guard two - a younger gentleman, with a little more kindness in his eyes (the years would eventually beat it out of him) - stood outside the cell, one hand on his handgun, the other on his can of MACE. The two warned Mendez to cooperate and then started to manhandle him in the direction of the doorway.

The Doctor licked his lip and his eyes darted between 304 and guard one.

The first release into the cell, was the moment when most men would put up a struggle. It would be their last attempt at regaining some measure of masculine pride out of the situation. After being stripped, searched scrubbed, and re-dressed in prison clothing, most men were close to breaking point. However, prisoner 304 seemed content to be pushed and pummelled into the empty cell. The guards did just so and undid his restraints through the metal awning.

"Drop 'em to the floor, kick 'em back."

Lecter watched with interest. He, of course, had been much more seriously handled. It had taken six guards, seven guns, and countless ties and restraints to get him into his cell. The Doctor's shoulder twinged a little, in memory of the event.

"Step forwards." Guard one snapped.

304 complied, not eagerly but without fuss. The Doctor resisted the urge to tilt his head and catch a better look of the man's face. Since he had arrived, Lecter had not moved, nor shown any sign - apart from his gaze - that he held any interest in the other prisoner. It would not do to give his curiosity away now. Besides, there would be plenty of time for more careful analysis later.

Time had become a strange paradox to the Doctor – he had both too much and too little. While the date of his final trial had begun to weigh heavily on the horizon, each day felt as if it stretched on for at least double its twenty-four hours. Out of sheer boredom, and a lack of anything interesting to do, the Doctor had decided to spend the next four days, until his scheduled meeting with Clarice, asleep. Such a decision was easier to make than to carry out. By the end of the second day - unable to keep his eyes closed for another moment without completely losing control of his faculties - the Doctor settled on counting the ceiling tiles between each ventilation shaft and reciting Paradise lost, backwards.

Thinking about it, it was debatable, whether he had saved the aforementioned faculties.

Yawning widely, the Doctor turned his head towards cell 304. The movement, his first for a good few hours, was slightly stiff. Prison mattresses were not renowned for their comfort and he had spent a long night sleeping at an odd angle. His shoulder - the one which had been dislocated all those years ago - ached.

Across the hall and down one cell, 304 was still standing with his back to the door. Guard one beat his wobbly retreat, covered by guard two's taser. Lecter watched, as they stepped outside the cell and signalled to their colleague in the secure prison booth. Another buzz and the door slid closed. A rowdy cheer sprung up among the other inmates; led, once again, by the Doctor's ignorant neighbour.

Guard one turned to face the hall, raising the discarded cuffs like a trophy.

"All right, quiet it down, boys, or we'll have you wearing these shiny new bracelets all night 'ya selves. Got it?"

Inside cell 304, the prisoner had still not moved. His shoulders were slumped, but there were no spasms. No tears, for your life 304? The prisoner ran slightly shaking hands over the back of his neck and head. The Doctor watched nonchalantly. A broken man was not an unusual sight between prison walls.

Guard two had already beat his retreat to the secure booth, but guard one hung around a little longer. He waddled proudly on front of the cells, as if examining specimens of a particularly ugly collection. He stopped in front of Lecter's cage. Prior to the arrival of 304, prisoner 207, namely Doctor Hannibal Lecter, had been the newest prisoner on the supermax block. Lecter had raised a great deal of interest in the two guards. Guard one had made it his ambition in life to get him to talk.

The overweight man peered in, huge eyebrows lowered over rheumy eyes.

"And what you staring at, Doc'? Huh?"

Lecter felt a retort tingle, but evaluated the situation and decided against it. A moment of satisfaction was not worth being chained to his bed frame for the next twenty-four hours, out of reach of the toilet and sink. He blinked instead and held the guard's gaze apathetically. After a few seconds the guard got bored and waddled off down the hall, muttering dark words about Lecter. He rattled the chains against the bars of each cage as he passed; a zookeeper, riling his beasts.

Lecter did not watch him go. His attention stayed with 304.

The younger man had turned and walked to the sink, where he proceeded to run water over his outstretched hands. Dipping his dark head - hair shaved in standard prison cut, close to the skull - 304 gathered a handful of water and transported it to his lips, drinking deeply. Having been trussed up in the court transport van for the best part of the day, he would be parched. Lecter knew that particular thirst well. Thirst and regret were his constant companions now.

"Hey?"

One of 304's more adventurous neighbours had reached a hand around the side of their shared wall - something that Doctor Lecter's neighbours had mysteriously neglected to try.

Most prisoners were not restrained as Lecter was, by a net behind the bars, and so they were able to set up an extensive communication network. The Doctor had witnessed letters, newspapers, even small hand-fashioned weapons being passed between cells. It was impressive what enterprising young men were capable of achieving, whilst locked up and supervised, twenty-four-seven.

"He-ey... fresh meat!"

Lecter noted, with the smallest hint of a smile, that - again - no one had used that name for him either.

"Hey, you, boy! You're Mendez, ain't ya?"

304 took another drink, ignoring the extended hand, which now rattled his bars. His shoulders had tensed.

"You're Ianto Mendez. I saw you's in the paper."

"Hey, cummon' buddy, aint no silence gonna save yo ass now," another piped up. "You're in fo' good. You hear that slam?"

"Slam dunk, man." Another of them wheedled.

A titter passed around the cells near 304. Further down the block, the other loud men had lost interest. They congregated at the corners of their cells, discussing more important things than 304's fate; namely food, sex and guns. The cell directly across from Lecter was also empty. 304 gravitated towards that side of his cell, ignoring his neighbour, who still had his hand shoved through the bars.

Things were quiet for a minute or so and then the neighbour piped up again.

"Hey, hey, Mendez... check it-" Another rattle of the bars.

The hand withdrew and then reappeared, clutching scraps of paper, lined with black print. From the distance, Lecter could not make out what was on it, but there was a smudge in one side, which could perhaps have been a photograph. A newspaper, then, perhaps?

"Gotcha stories, Mendez... I got those pics o' that purty lady friend of yours."

More silence from 304. He had taken a seat on the edge of his bed, hands gripping his knees, as he stared down at the floor. His neighbour's hand wiggled, until it fit the tattered Tattler through the bars.

"She's awful nice lookin', buddy."

The Doctor's neighbour wolf whistled.

"Hey!" Guard one's voice. "Keep it down in there, I'm tryin' ta watch something."

The hand in 304's cell retreated out of sight, perhaps deciding to engage Mendez at a later date, once he was more settled in. 304 glanced over at the paper on his floor, his face a twisted picture of emotion. Worry, anger, more than a little fear... The Doctor's eyes travelled over to the paper also. From the form of the words, the layout, he recognised it as a last week's edition. It was a full-page spread, on the day of his second-last trial. A split photograph took the upper half of the page. On one side was Gabriella Woodley, smiling on her wedding day. On the other - a photograph of the scowling Mendez, exiting the courtroom after his initial hearing. Lecter could not read the title from his distance, but he remembered it well enough.

'Rapist gardener goes down."

304 continued to ignore all around him. Pulling his feet up onto the bed, he folded them under himself. Then, his dark hands fell to smoothing the creases in his prison scrubs.

It took half an hour for the hall to quieten completely. Then, all that could be heard was rhythmic breathing and the soft chatter of the guard's portable tv, in the booth down the hall. Occasionally, noise from other blocks would permeate the walls, or prisoners would turn over, springs creaking on uncomfortable mattresses, but, for the most part, there was static silence. With another two hours to suffer until 'dinner' was served, this was the late afternoon lull. This was the time which Doctor Lecter would have usually spent on his back, absorbed in the stories his mind could conjure up from his extensive memory. But not today.

Today he was restless, and this restlessness stoked a need for greater control. The Doctor sat still. measuring each breath with painful precision. Managing the yearning inside of him - these strange fluctuations of electricity and chemicals which made up emotion - was key to managing his response. And he would not be seen to be suffering, not by any man. It was a satisfaction he was unwilling to give to his captors. Nevertheless, his body yearned desperately to wander streets again. To walk through parks and bridges, to touch and feel texture, take in the scents of life around him. He thirsted for any form of exercise or stimulation. Some forms more fervently, of course. He had been in captivity for more than four months now and the separation from all forms of sexual outlet was proving an interesting experience.

The Doctor turned his face towards the sun. As if as a treat for good behaviour, it was streaming in through his minuscule window, warming the room through frosted glass. This happened rarely, for the position of Lecter cell on the supermax block, was tucked into the corner of a separate wing. He had figured this out, with knowledge of the shape of the building and the light at different times of day. Today, late in the year, the sun would pass across his window for no more than five minutes, before its light was blocked by concrete wall.

Across the hall, 304 did not move for almost thirty minutes. The Doctor counted them off, silently, measuring them on his steady heart rate. When the man he was watching finally did move, it was to lift his head and take in the bars around him. Those bars - that strange white grid through which he must now view the world. Lecter could remember his first night spent behind them with infinite detail. He had not been afraid, but he knew himself to be a rare breed. And this man was younger, the emotions in him buried so shallowly that they were almost visible beneath his skin - twisting his features into a scowl or worry.

After scanning the bars, 304's eyes slipped beyond them, surveying the limits of his new habitat, and then, instinctively, they sought out the one gaze which was still fixed on him. Maroon met brown across the hallway. It barely qualified as a moment, for there was little in the way of understanding which passed between the pair. The young man was too angry to reach out to another human being and Hannibal Lecter would have been the least empathetic of human beings to reach out to. His eyes held little more warmth than liquid nitrogen.

304 held the gaze for five seconds, before hurriedly tearing his eyes away. The quickening of his heartbeat was evident in the crook of his neck. His jugular pulsed there, nervous, tense and frustrated. His muscles were held taut again. 304 swallowed and concentrated on the floor. Lecter watched, with dwindling curiosity.

He would have never occupied himself with 304 so long, if he had not known with whom the 'rapist gardener' had recently been affiliated; the woman Agent who had assisted in his conviction. But, even with this connection, 304 was proving an inadequate distraction. There would be a good few more hours before his body would let him submit to sleep. The Doctor decided that he would have something else to occupy his mind with.

Standing, he allowed himself a moment to adjust to a different altitude, then paced off to another corner of his cell. His legs both resented and relished the change to movement. Taking care to stretch out the backs of his calves - gastronemius and soleus muscles - Doctor Lecter moved to the sink and rested his palms against it. Cold, unfeeling metal. He pushed his palms flush, the chill livening his skin. Staring into the polished metal that masqueraded as a mirror, Lecter examined the blurry reflection of his own face.

304, the 'rapist gardener' Ianto Mendez, was Starling's catch. He had read this, in the same Tattler that now lay in 304's cell.

The Doctor turned the handle of the sink, playing the moulded metal between his fingertips. Cold.

Where was she now? Out celebrating a job well done, perhaps. Lecter ran one hand over the edge of his jaw, where stubble was beginning to pepper his skin black and grey. He had given her the chance - he had created a life for her beyond prison walls, and he had given it all willingly. The Doctor held no regrets over his actions. He was here through his own choice... and yet it stung to be reminded of her freedom now. A sting of weakness, of pure human jealousy.

The Doctor let his hand fall from his cheek to the cold metal basin of the sink and leant his weight against it. This was why human emotion must be regulated, he thought, gripping the basin between his fingers and the palm of his hand. If left to run riot, emotion could drive any man to the brink of insanity.

The sun had passed away from the frosted glass, its orange-yellow glow denoting how low it was to the horizon now. Soon, it would dip beyond sight and be lost to the night. The Doctor suppressed a physical shudder at the thought. He dreaded the coming of night; that great cloak of darkness which spread over him in his uncomfortable bed. Dreams plagued him - dreams which he thought he had long banished from his memory palace. Dreams of cold darkness, of blood spattered snow...

Grounding his thoughts on the cold edge of the sink, the Doctor watched the light growing dimmer in the small rectangle of frosted glass. Dimmer, fainter, and then it disappeared entirely, behind another cement wing of the MCAC. Outside, day was dying the soft death of an early winter evening. As dinner came and went, the colour of the window faded into grey, the dark blue and then, finally, to the inky purple. As the lights on the block went out, and the window was lit by contrast, Hannibal Lecter watched the night draw in; irreversible, cold and dark. And laced with ghosts of Mischa.


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29 - Mendez's fate._

_._

The duplex was quiet as a cemetery when Ardelia Mapp arrived home. She was glad of it. In all ways possible, her day had been hell.

She had risen at half six in the morning, sore from a night of the sofa and dragged herself in to the courthouse for what felt like the hundredth Lecter hearing. She and Vale had sat in the benches, listening to Lecter's lawyer covering and re-covering the requirements for his client, should their proposed 'deal' go ahead.

As expected, the judge had ruled to continue with the deal. Hannibal Lecter would undergo psych evaluations in exchange for two visits from Starling – a preliminary face-to-face which would last for two minutes (under supervision) and then, if Lecter complied fully with the testing, a longer, half-hour meet in private.

Lecter himself was auspicious by his absence. From Pearsall, later on, Mapp learned that Lecter had not spoken to a soul since making their deal at the MCAC. His only communication had been a letter to his lawyer, detailing payment, and a letter addressed – but never delivered – to the Food Standards Agency, citing 'cruel and unusual punishment'.

Mapp had then spent the rest of the afternoon sifting through piles of paperwork and transferring her belongings up to the third floor, where she had been newly assigned to a 'Drugs and trafficking' case. Three hours of handshaking and introductions later, she was left alone chase paper trails in her office. (More of a box than an office, but it was a start and a huge step up the FBI career ladder). The paper trails – concerning a recent influx of heroin into the Baltimore market – tied her up until early evening, when she finally decided to call it a day.

Arriving home, she threw her bag onto the couch and proceeded to the kitchen. She had pushed through the door and walked half way across the darkened kitchen room, before she suddenly realised she was not alone.

"Hey stranger."

Mapp gave a squeak of surprise and whirled around.

Starling laughed.

"Shit, girl, you nearly had a heart attack!"

Mapp glared at her housemate who was sitting in the dark, picking at a bowl of dry cereal.

"What the hell are ya doin' sitting in the dark, Clarice? You scared the life out of me."

As they faced each other in the silent kitchen, Mapp became aware that the last time they had talked it had been in anger – in the heat of an argument. It had been in this very room, in fact.

They had not had a chance to reconcile. They had both been out of the house the next morning before the sun had risen in the sky – missing each other in the driveway by a matter of minutes. Mapp wondered, briefly, whether there would be any residual tension. Starling's face, however, held no animosity. She did not want to fight. And, after the day Mapp had had, she did not want to either.

Starling smiled and popped a cheerio into her mouth, breaking the awkward silence.

"I'm getting into a spooky Halloween mood." she wiggled her fingertips in 'spooky' movements. "Vale's comin' by later, with Halloween treats."

"Oh yeah?" Mapp kept her voice purposefully calm, though a slight wave of panic pervaded her body at the mention of her ex-partners name.

She was nowhere near ready for company tonight. Her clothes were all in the laundry, her hair was a mess. Mapp grimaced. She had forgone every attempt at makeup in the rush to get out the door that morning. She looked like she had been backed through a bush, attacked by a rake and then slapped about a bit. It was not a good look.

"Okay, well you two have fun then."

"Hey," Starling pointed. "You should come. You need social interaction, whether you like it or not. And," Starling shot her an evil grin, "we're all wearing a bit of costume to hand out candy to the kids."

Mapp raised her eyebrows.

"You hate kids."

"I'm in training."

A silence. Starling selected another piece of cereal and dropped it into her mouth.

"Come on, Dee, I bought candy and everything. You used to make me do it every year. When did you turn into such a scrooge?" She looked mildly surprised.

"Didn't see the point in doing it alone, did I?" Mapp mumbled. "Anyway, I've not done it in ages. No one will come 'round."

Mapp went over to the fridge and poured herself a cold glass of water. Leaning against the counter, she sipped it slowly.

Starling sighed.

"Well, I told Vale you're making enchiladas and that we're using your living room. If you say no it makes you look pretty cold."

"I am making enchiladas and you're both very welcome to them, but you are not using my living room! You can dress up on your own time."

Mapp's friend leant forwards, pulling a mock-sulking face.

"Come on, Ardelia... if you don't come you'll be missing out on Vale dressed as a pirate and me debuting as..." she reached beneath the table and produced a red cape with a flourish, "Superwoman."

"Oh holy mother Mary and sweet baby Jesus..."

"We're celebrating."

"Celebrating?"

"Mendez's last court date was this afternoon." Starling's face became instantly more serious, as it always did when she spoke about the case. "He refused to plead, just like we thought." She sighed. "He went down hard."

"Life?" asked Mapp. She could not imagine that the rapist gardener had been convicted with anything less.

"They gave him the needle. At least, they hope so. He's got the sentence, but, you know...appeals."

Starling gave another sigh.

"Well he deserves it. You heard what he did."

Mapp took another grateful sip of water. The cool of the liquid bathed her tired throat and she gave a shudder as she wondered what an injection of Sodium Pentathol would feel like, pulsing through her veins.

"I don't know if anyone really deserves it." Starling murmured, quietly.

Mapp watched her friend over the rim of her glass. She was distinctly aware that Clarice had used to support the Death Penalty.

"It's not so much the death bit that gets to me." Starling continued to muse, almost to herself.

Mapp raised an eyebrow.

"Really? That bit gets to most people."

"It's the waiting." Starling frowned to herself. "They have to sit in there and wait - even after their trials - knowing that any week they could..." Starling shook herself back into reality. The smallest of frowns smoothed away, to be replaced with complete composure. "I guess they're right to do it, though. If he did all those things..."

Mapp nodded slowly.

Every now and then, she would get these glimpses of the new Clarice Starling - the one who had changed so much over the last three years that Mapp could barely recognise her. Most of the time, it was something stupid, like the way she listened to classical music to fall asleep, or that she knew enough Italian to watch a foreign film without subtitles. Sometimes, it was something a little deeper than a new habit, or language. Sometimes, Mapp wondered if some of Clarice's more basic aspects had changed. This new view on capital punishment, for example; was it because of what she had been through? Had Starling felt like she was waiting on Death row, these past few years?

Starling let out an indiscernible sigh and leant back into the kitchen chair. Prodding a solitary Cheerio across the table, back towards its fellows in the bowl, she supplanted her anxious expression with a smile.

"But I ain't no judge or jury. That ain't down to me."

"Prob'ly a good thing," Mapp replied, trying to inject some humour back into into the conversation. "God knows what you'd be like with that kinda power."

"I think I'd become a vigilante." Starling smiled, almost shyly.

"Clarice Starling; the ultimate justice." Mapp laughed. "It's got a nice ring to it."

They both laughed a little.

"You could be my sidekick."

"Nah," Mapp shook her head. "I'd be a terrible vigilante. I mean, it's all very well in theory, doin' something for the greater good. But in reality, you gotta really know – like definitively know – what is right an' wrong. And we don't. We can't, cause we're only human, you know?"

Mapp felt Starling's eyes tracing uncomfortably intense patterns across her face.

"Yeah."

There was silence for about half a minute.

"Ok." Mapp sighed heavily, giving in. "You guys can come over tonight. But only if I don't have to dress up, ok?"

Starling's face softened into a smile.

"You sure? You don't even want to come as superman? I could make this cape into two, you know."

"Not even as superman." Mapp waved her friend away. "Learn to quit while you're ahead, girl. You got a place to cavort in costume – that should be enough!"

Mapp's friend laughed softly and got to her feet.

"Okie dokie, well I'm gonna shift. Gotta go change into my cape."

"You do realise that you said 'okie dokie' jus' there, right?"

Starling threw her a slightly perturbed look, from halfway across the kitchen.

"Did I? Damn."

"You gettin' old, kid. That ain't the lingo, nowadays."

Starling pulled a face of mock surprise and strode out of the room.

.

The evening went well. Vale turned up about half an hour late, dressed as the least convincing pirate that Mapp had ever seen. Starling greeted him at the door and brought him through to the living room, with a smirk.

"It's phenomenal," Mapp's friend laughed. "I didn't know there were any velvet waistcoats left in the world."

"Where did you find it?" Mapp asked, pulling herself up off the couch.

"Charity shop." Vale grinned back. "Here," he handed Starling an armful of provisions. "If you give me just a minute... your surprise is in the car."

His eyes travelled over to Mapp's and they shared a tiny smile.

"And what exactly is this awesome surprise?" Starling demanded, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah," Vale shoved one more bag of popcorn into Starling's hands. "You'll just have to wait and see, won't you."

Then, with a smile at Mapp, he turned and jogged back outside towards his dilapidated pickup truck.

"I'll put these in the kitchen, we've got enough in here to last a while."

"Uh, uh," Mapp shook her head and extended an arm to take the popcorn from Starling. "You're gonna want to see what comes out of that car."

Starling rolled her eyes.

"I should have known you'd be in on this, whatever it was."

"What is it?"

"Can't say," Mapp took the bags of popcorn and headed through to the kitchen, throwing Starling a smirk over her shoulder.

Despite the draw of Vale's impending surprise, Starling followed her.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked, as Mapp stacked the bags of popcorn.

"I'm not telling you what it is. You'll find out soon enough."

"No, not that."

Starling had the look of someone cradling a bomb.

"I just wondered what exactly was going on between you and Vale."

"What d'ya mean?" averting her eyes, Mapp concentrated on her stacking.

"C'mon, Dee. I'm not stupid. You're blushing like a teenybopper on prom night... don't say there ain't anything there."

"I do not. We're just friends."

"Sure." Starling gave her a reproachful look. "You know, He talks about you all the time, Dee. Not like he would about 'just a friend'."

"He does?"

"Mmhm."

Mapp sighed.

"Listen, it's nothin' Clarice. There never could be, not even if I wanted it."

Mapp looked down, realising that she had folded her arms defensively across her chest. She bit her lip, hoping against reason that Starling would accept her shitty excuse and let the subject drop.

"Can we talk about this later?"

"He really likes you too, you know."

"God damn it, Clarice, I know he does!" Mapp lifted her head and fixed her eyes defiantly on her friend. "Do you think it would be this hard if he didn't?" Mapp forced herself to lower her voice. "It doesn't matter, Clarice. Nothing's gonna happen."

Starling sighed.

"Listen, I never went on about you and John Brigham."

"I was never in love with John."

"You were sleeping together."

"Twice. It didn't work out."

"Wasn't it awkward as hell, afterward you two..?"

Starling laughed.

"Of course it was awkward as hell, but we got over it. He asked for something I couldn't give so I told him it was friends or nothing. He chose to be my friend."

Mapp held her silence for a while.

"You never told me any of this before."

"You never asked outright, did you?"

Mapp frowned slightly. She didn't think that people ever asked that sort of thing outright.

"Well, no..."

Starling had her fixed in an intense stare.

"Do you love him?"

"You really like this outright asking thing, huh?" Mapp grumbled.

Her friend did not say anything, but gave her an encouraging nod.

"I don't know."

Contrary to what she had imagined it feeling like, admitting her possible emotions, regarding Benedict Vale, was strangely liberating. The world seemed a little less claustrophobic for a second. It was also reassuring to realise aloud that, even within herself, Mapp was not entirely sure of her feelings - or what they meant. Mapp drew a slow breath, tasting the warmth of chocolate on the roof of her mouth. Ghostbusters wailed on the TV behind them. Outside, a man shouted, a group of kids hared past, squealing in juvenile pleasure, a dog barked, a door slammed, another man shouted something unintelligible. Mapp had spoken emotion - aloud - and the world had not come to an end.

"Dee, will ya do me a favour?" Starling exhaled softly.

Her words drew Mapp back in from her dizzy height of self-discovery.

"When you know..." Starling's face drew a little closer to a frown. "When you know that you love him, don't wait."

It was another one of those new-Starling moments; like the woman across from her was a familiar stranger - someone she had loved, once upon a long time ago.

The moment should have gone on for longer, but they were interrupted sharply by Vale's voice from outside.

"Hey, Starling, get your ass out here!"

Starling held Mapp's gaze for a moment longer, as if making sure that her message had been received. Mapp found the strength to give her a little nod and this seemed enough for Starling.

Starling's intensity broke, her demeanour switching instantly back to cheerful.

"Hold your horses, Vale, I'm comin'."

Mapp watched her housemate turn and walk out the door.

Starling was right, ignoring her feelings about Vale had been a stupid idea. In her defence, however, the situation had caught her by surprise. On the day she met Vale, Mapp walked had into the FBI headquarters expecting to find information on her lost friend. What she had found was so much more. As always, Mapp just hadn't been prepared for the human factor.

The emotions had been overwhelming at first and she had pushed them aside, for the good of the investigation. But now the investigation was over, she had no excuse. Starling was right. She and Vale would just have to approach the situation like adults - not scared high-school kids.

From outside, a shout startled her thoughts.

"Holy shit, Benedict Vale!"

The exclamation was muffled at the end, by the sound of someone being pulled into a crushing hug. This, Mapp had to witness. Banishing her musings on romance, she made her way to the porch.

Outside, Halloween was in full swing. Mapp's other neighbours - most of them couples or young families - had decorated yards and placed jack-o-lanterns atop fence posts. Porch lights glowed openly. Kids and weary-looking parents traipsed up and down the suburban streets in packs, clutching pillow-cases and buckets full of candies in hopeful hands. The sky was beginning to darken. In a couple of weeks, the frosts would set in and the season would be over. Autumn was brief here. For now, however, leaf litter dusted the ground, painting yards red and yellow. And there - amongst the leaves in the middle of Mapp's, rather unkempt, lawn - leaping around the legs of one Clarice Starling, was a golden-coloured dog.

"Hey Gil," Mapp smiled.

Starling was busy kissing Vale on the cheek.

"Oh Vale, you found him, ee mf hmm!" Starling took Vale's chin in both hands and planted a kiss on his forehead - having to stand on tip-toes to do so.

Vale blushed a violent red.

"No problem. Uh, you're welcome."

Dipping into a crouch, Starling threw her hands around the dog's neck and ruffled the thick fluff there.

"Hello Gil. Hello my boy."

Starling's joy at finding the dog was infectious. It was not often that Mapp saw her friend in good humour - let alone jumping around the garden - and she decided to make the most of it.

"That's great, Clarice. Is he ok?"

Mapp turned to Vale, jumping down the porch steps to stand beside him.

"How did ya find it? There's gotta be about a hundred of those yellow dogs in DC."

Vale smiled graciously and explained.

"Well it started when I was taking 'Two' to the vets."

Vale had been rather less than inventive when it came to names. The little golden retriever puppy he had initially mistaken for 'Gil' had been adopted and, after careful consideration, christened 'Gil the second' (or 'Two'). Mapp had called him lazy but, as Vale pointed out, dogs didn't really care what their names were. 'Two' was coming along nicely now, all trained up and growing like a beanstalk.

"I heard him say he was checking her microchip, so I asked if all dogs get 'em and he says that all dogs that go through the adoption system get them done. So, I got a list of details on Agent Starling's dog - dates and stuff - and sent them over to the tech guys and they cross referenced the system. Found this fella' over in New Jersey."

"You did good, Vale."

The pair of them held each other's gaze for a moment and then Mapp pulled away. His gaze was liquid fire. If she stared into it for any longer, she would have jumped him.

Mapp watched Starling play with the dog in the leaves. Personally, if she had been kidnapped and held, by a crazed cannibal killer, Mapp would have wanted to get as far away from anything which reminded her of her time there. But Starling - as she was constantly reminded - was not like her. And if the fluffy, gangly, slobbery dog was gonna make her happy then he was here to stay.

Mapp walked over to her friend. Starling looked up, breathless.

"Hey, Dee." Her face was split in a grin. "Damn, he's got so big!"

Thinking of chewed furniture, consumed socks and the doggie minefield her garden was about to become, Mapp forced a smile.

"Yeah, he's real big all right."

Gile rolled onto one side, pink tongue rolling out the corner of his great mouth, a slightly deranged look in his eyes. If Mapp remembered correctly, such an expression was fairly part-and-parcel with retrievers. She attempted another smile and mouthed 'hi' to the dog. The retriever rolled over and leapt up against Mapp's legs. Feeling like she had been kneecapped by a small freight train, Mapp leant over and patted the dog tentatively on its fluffy back.

"He's, uh... nice."

Starling laughed.

"It's okay," she assured, "He can stay on my side of the house."

"He'd better." Mapp ran her hand over the beast's anvil-like head. "I'm not even gonna try and guess how much hair he sheds."

Starling laughed again.

Sitting in the grass, amongst the leaf litter, Starling looked suddenly young again. The worry faded back to reveal a thirty-five year old woman, cheeks bright with pleasure. In the half-light, in her stretch-T, Starling's swollen belly was obvious for the first time. The bump was only small but, as she embraced the young dog on the ground, Starling looked like she might just be able to pull off this mothering lark after all.

Mapp sighed.

"With everything going on, are you sure you can handle a dog too?"

"I'm gonna be okay, Dee."

"I know, but it's my job to look out for you."

Starling's lips curled into a smile.

"Thanks."

"Hey," Mapp nodded towards Vale. "Go thank him. He's the one who got your baby back."

Starling ruffled Gil's head once more, tossed the leash over to Mapp "Here, hold this for a sec." and then jogged over to Vale.

She held out a hand – the movement ever so Starling. Mapp smiled, watching Vale blush red again and gingerly return the motion of trust.

Mapp looked down. At her feet, Gil who was chewing on the end of his leash. The lanky pup was lying upside down, with all four feet paddling in the air. He stopped when he saw that Mapp was watching, eyes lighting with crazed joy at the attention.

"Don't you go gettin' any ideas, now." Map grumbled. "I'm a cat person."

His tail beat furiously, sending plumes of leaves over each other with static rustling.

"We're just gonna have to pretend to get on, for Clarice's sake. You get me?"

Lips pulled back into a pant, the dog almost looked as if he were smiling.

"I'm glad we agree."

.

Halloween night crept in and the air about grew colder. The three agents - or, perhaps, it would be more appropriate simply to refer to them as the three friends - gradually made their way inside. As light faded, street lamps sprung into life along the suburban avenue.

Contrary to what she had warned Starling, back in the yard, Mapp allowed the newest addition to the household to join them in her side of the house. She even let him sit on the sofa (for one night only, Mapp had said – though she already knew that resistance was futile).

Inky black spread fast across the sky, tinged orange in the distance with DC's lights. The friends ate candy and spent what all three of them agreed was a ridiculous amount of time watching old X-files re-runs. Each friend was secretly glad of the company; the human sheild against the cold darkness of night.

The night drew in. Cold. Dark. It was a good night not to be alone.


	30. Chapter 30

_Chapter 30 - Starling's Inferno_

_._

The cool porcelain of the sink pressed into her palms. Starling had been lurking in the second floor visitor's toilet for the last twenty minutes, acutely aware of each passing second. The tap against the opposite wall was dripping steadily; splat, splat, splat, into the cold white basin. The repetitive noise permeated her consciousness. Every drop brought her tipping closer to insanity.

Starling's stomach churned.

"Clarice. They're about ready for you up there." Mapp's voice was nervous.

"Just a minute..."

She needed considerably longer than a minute to straighten out her mind, but a minute was all she was going to get.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Just... procrastinating."

Pushing off the sink, Starling looked around the restroom. It was shabby. Starling suspected that there wasn't much call for this room. People didn't hang around in the MCAC more than they had to. If she had the choice, she wouldn't be here... but circumstances had convened.

Starling twisted the tap and ran her fingertips underneath the water. It was cool and steady – everything she was not.

"You ready to go up?"

Starling nodded without looking up.

"You can still back out, kid."

She couldn't really but nodded anyway. It was the thought that counted. Behind her, Mapp moved closer and squeezed her shoulder.

"We have to head up now."

Starling nodded again.

Dread intensifying with every step, she led the way out of the bathroom and through reception. Mapp followed, silently, her heels clicking away against the industrial prison building floor. They took the elevator to the fifth floor. The authorities had agreed that it was a better idea to put the two together on neutral terms, so Lecter had been moved from Solitary confinement for the occasion.

The interview room was built in two parts, separated by a thick glass partition. On one side stood the agents and guards and on the other – dimly visible behind tinted glass– was a solitary shape. Her heart jumped faster but she resisted the urge to look over. Instead, she focused on Vale, who stood by the recording equipment. His arms were folded across his chest and his forehead was deeply furrowed. He looked almost as tense as Starling felt.

"G' morning, Starling."

"Vale." Starling's eyes moved over to the other three men present. "A.D. Pearsall, sir." She nodded to her boss.

"Good afternoon, Agent Starling." Pearsall stepped forwards and offered his hand, which Starling shook. He then stepped back and indicated the two men on his left, naming them in turn. "This is MCAC Warden Jeremy Brockes and Dr Hannibal Lecter's defence attorney, Thomas Jessell."

Both men shook Starling's hand, nodding to Mapp and Vale, who were had arranged themselves to flank her. With the few agents, security man, the Doctor's lawyer and two prison guards, the room was becoming claustrophobic. Introductions finished, Starling finally chanced a look over, through the glass into the interrogation room.

He was there.

Of course he was there.

Starling had been preparing herself for this moment since Vale had informed her of the deal, two mornings ago, but she was still not prepared. Her nerves had been worked up until she was in a state of whole-bodied tension. Her throat was tight, hot, dry - her fingers more twitchy than a teenage boy on prom night. Now, facing him across three inches of glass, Starling was close to breaking point.

He looked okay, if Hannibal Lecter restrained in cuffs, manacles and mouth-plate could look okay. His prison scrubs were hanging a bit loosely. Starling couldn't tell if it was their quality, or if Lecter was thinner than. She hoped it was the former, though the Doctor touching prison food any more than necessary was unlikely.

"Okay people, it is twelve o' clock," Pearsall's voice rang through. "Can we please get everyone who isn't part of this shambles out of the room."

Walkie talkies beeped and non-essential personnel drained from the room. Inside the interview room, one of the caretakers removed Lecter's mouth-plate, ensuring that he was strapped in securely. Pearsall barked orders. Eventually, equilibrium of personnel was established and Pearsall turned to Starling.

"Okay, Agent. Are you ready?"

It must have been a rhetorical question.

Starling looked over to her superior, noting the gaunt appearance of his chest within the protective shell of his suit. He was not the young man she remembered him as. The years had been hard on Clint Pearsall; more hours in the office, less in the field. His heavy muscles of youth had given way to middle age. His hairline had receded a couple of inches and become flecked with grey. The skin around his cheeks and jaw was now heavier.

Starling nodded.

"Yes sir."

Mapp and Vale took their leave. The technician sat down behind the recording equipment, flicking on a few switches.

"Okay, you know the protocol." Pearsall's voice, advising her quietly. "His mouthpiece has been removed, as per the conditions of the deal, but he'll be restrained at all times. His chair is four feet away, you're perfectly safe."

Suddenly, four feet seemed like miles.

"If he tries anything, we've got Chase and Roe in there, who have tranq guns trained on him."

Too valuable for bullets now, Doc, thought Starling bitterly. The FBI wanted him alive to kill him, themselves.

"Okay, sir."

"And, Starling?" Pearsall looked a little worried, but he hid it with an impressive, macho cough. "If you can, try and stick it out. This meet is five minutes and it could mean the difference between life and the death penalty."

"Yes sir."

After muttering to the warden, Pearsall went over the final details with Lecter's lawyer. The thin man listened, before retreating to the far corner of the room. There, he leant against the wall with his arms folded. The look on his face said exactly what he thought of his client's deal.

"Okay," the Warden spoke up, hands in pockets. "All ready on our end."

"Okay, lets get this underway."

Pearsall placed one hand against Starling's shoulder, steering her towards the door. He opened it with a soft metallic click. Over at his table, about fifteen feet away, Lecter did not look up.

"Okay," said Pearsall, very quietly.

Starling stepped inside and the door clicked close behind her.

The room was white, all around her. As Starling stepped inside, she noted it was the size of an average jail cell, but seemed larger for the natural lighting. At the centre of the room, a long table was bolted to the floor. A chair was positioned on either side. On one chair sat Lecter. Starling stepped forwards, her footstep loud in the silence. Still, he did not look up.

Starling took a seat and allowed herself five seconds of mental adjustment, before speaking.

"Doctor,"

Only when she spoke did he finally look up.

Starling could have cried a little, to see the complete absence of any emotions from his gaze. The Doctor's calm facade was fully in place. His maroon eyes showed no trace of love, or even recognition.

"G'd morning." She added, softly.

His gaze flickered briefly, then settled again. It was the only sign that he had even noted her trademark greeting, the one he had used to tease her about.

"Is it?" he enquired politely, a coolness to his voice that she recognised instantly from their meetings in Baltimore and Memphis. "I believe it is at least twelve, by now, Clarice. Though, I have not had access to a clock since early this morning."

Starling checked her watch.

"You're right. Twelve o' three."

His eyes changed ever-so-slightly - the difference infinitesimal. Starling felt sure that she would have been the only one who caught it. Softness; the merest glimmer of emotion.

"You've not stated your name for the record, Agent Starling." he spoke quietly, giving a little nod to the blackout glass, behind which Pearsall and the lawyers were watching.

Starling looked down, swallowing hard. For some inexplicable reason, she felt as if she were going to break into manic laughter. Perhaps it was the ludicrous nature of the situation she had found herself in. She was pregnant by a convicted serial killer - planning his escape while simultaneously working with the FBI to send him down. Or, perhaps she was going mad. That, thought Starling, was the only reasonable explanation.

"No, Doctor, I haven't. But this isn't a conversation for the benefit of the courtroom."

"Neither it is." His eyes swung, from the window, back to her. "...Merely the means to an end."

"Yes."

"My end."

A pause.

"Yes."

The silence between them spiralled nicely, growing more intense with each passing second. Starling drew her knees more tightly together, pressing her hands between them. Subconsciously, she supposed she must have taken up this bodily position to keep her hands between her abdomen and Lecter. She had worn a loosely fitted jacket specifically so he did not pick out the changes in her body. She didn't want him to know. If there was even the slightest chance that he plead insanity because of it and be sent to a secure hospital, rather than stay at the MCAC, all her months of planning would be in vain. Starling was pretty sure that no mortal happening could convince Lecter to change his mind on the subject, but she had predicted his movements wrongly before.

Starling removed her hands from their defensive posture and placed them, side by side, palm down on the table.

"What happened to your hand, Doctor?" she offered, conversationally.

A tape strip criss-crossed the back of it. The injury had not been noted on his incident reports for the last few days. Starling would know, she checked them regularly.

"The after effects of a large-bore IV, I'm afraid." The Doctor gave a wan smile. "Sedation for my little field trip today." he explained.

"For this?"

Lecter nodded slowly. Sure enough, his pupils were dilated wide open.

Starling felt a surge of anger.

"That was not necessary. We didn' have to do that."

"How astute of you, Clarice." The Doctor tilted his head, red tongue tip poking out to wet the apex of his lip. "And how are the FBI treating you?"

"As well as ever."

"As well as ever..." his eyes slipped off hers and onto the viewing window, pin-pointing almost exactly where Starling had left Pearsall. "Now that our mutual friend Jack Crawford has departed - so to speak - from the game, who do you run with your reports and arrest certificates to?"

"Assistant Director Pearsall is running your case. I report to department heads for other cases."

"Other cases, indeed. I hear you've been busy."

"Where from, Doctor?"

"Our favourite news rag." The Doctor applied the appropriate amount of disdain for Starling to know he was talking about the Tattler.

"I thought you didn't have access to reading material until after your trial." Starling frowned.

"Things spread like wildfire in prison."

"Right."

A pause.

"I had the dubious honour of meeting Mr Ianto Mendez. And, when I say 'meet', I mean to say that we glimpsed each other from either side of our fattening pens."

The reference to a slaughterhouse made Starling blanch a little, but she did not show it.

"Odd little man, is he not?"

"Mendez?"

"Yes." Lecters eyes had taken on a glint of something of the mischievous. "Rape and homicide... doesn't seem the 'type' does he?"

Starling began to squirm inside.

"I can't really say more about the case."

"Of course, _Agent_ Starling."

Nerves, longing and a million other feelings threatened to spill over. Determined not to show it, Starling pressed on.

"If you want to say something to me, Doctor, you're gonna have to hurry up. Five minutes are almost done."

"Nothing to say, Clarice. All I wished was to hear you speak."

There was silence for ten seconds. His eyes were burning through her, stroking the inside of her mind through her skull.

Starling shivered. She wished she could tell him all that she had been doing, these past few months. She wished she could show him the blueprints and plans - the deals she had struck and laws she had broken in her efforts to facilitate his escape. Did he even know that she was trying to free him? Did he have the faintest clue?

Starling met his gaze across the table, wishing he really could read her mind - wishing she could let him know by sheer will power.

"This is Hell for me, Hannibal." She hoped that he knew what she meant by it.

Miles apart inches away.

The Doctor stared at her for some time. Above the neck of his prison scrubs, a long scratch ran along his neck, suture marks faded into pink. A bullet had grazed him there - Starling had read the report on their 'capture' so many times that it had become ingrained upon her memory.

Eventually, the Doctor gave a long sigh and un-folded his manacled hands atop the tabletop, mirroring Starling's.

"Hell, in the manner in which you use it, is a relative concept, Clarice. Both of us know you have suffered worse and survived." He tilted his head slightly to the left. "Your perception of a situation is what determines your emotive response."

Starling looked down at the table.

"The mind can make a heaven out of hell or a hell out of heaven." He added, in a half-whisper.

"Milton." she murmured; more of a reaction than a response.

She lifted her head to see if she had correctly identified the quote and was rewarded with a small nod.

"Even the literal portrayal of Hell has gradation – look at the rings of Dante's inferno."

"It's not all bad for Dante, though," Starling muttered, a tad facetiously. "He knows he's getting out again."

The Doctor's eyes fell to Starling's chin, then travelled slowly back up to her eyes again, dancing over the nuances of each feature in between. His scrutiny made her shiver and ache all the more for him. The subject of Dante's inferno possibly did not help. It had been the first text he had read to her. After that, they had made her language lessons into a bit of an evening tradition. She missed being curled up with another person, sharing warmth, words and space.

"Dante has a nice, bright end in sight." she managed, after a moments silence, fighting for breath and words. She had to push on with the conversation. It was all that tied her to her sanity. "He reaches paradise."

A blink from her companion - his eyes liquid fire.

"Yes. His Beatrice leads him there."

Starling felt herself breaking. One hand began to rise towards him, body moving independently of mind.

"Though," The sudden sharpness of his tone caught her just in time - Starling stilled. "I doubt that you ever grasped the underlying sentiment of his story. Such elegance requires elegance in kind."

Though she knew it was meant to warn her, a flash of hurt followed the statement. Her hand continued to rise, but she moved it in towards herself, brushing back a strand of hair before dropping her fingers to grip the table edge - a plausible cover for her almost-mistake. Heart rate unsteady, she concentrated on the sound of the Doctor's voice, as he continued.

"Now, Clarice. Enlighten me…"

His eyes swivelled towards the viewing window again.

"Who stands in our viewing box, today; hands folded across their chests with overcompensating masculinity?"

Starling suspected there would be a great deal of arm-unfolding and uncomfortable shifting going on next door. She kept her voice level as she answered.

"Agent Pearsall, Warden Brockes, your lawyer, Jessel-."

"Charming, isn't he? I picked him up half-price, from a rather good law firm - something about a sexual harassment claim that wouldn't budge without financial aid."

"There are a few agents through there also, observing." Starling finished, choosing to ignore his comment.

If the Doctor wanted to turn his own defence against him, it was his business. As long as he stayed in the MCAC, her plans would not be harmed.

"And what of my illustrious captors?"

"Mapp and Vale are out there too." Starling confirmed, more than a little warning in her tone.

Be careful, H, please be careful.

"Quite a crowd."

"Your reputation proceeds you."

An uncomfortable moment was suffered through. Starling used it to check her watch.

"We have a minute left, Clarice," Lecter spoke quietly. "Nearly done. Then, you can run back to the welcoming arms of the FBI." He tilted his head. "I will be sad to see you go, Clarice. I have most enjoyed conversing with you again…"

Starling swallowed.

"…I miss the company."

He could damn well say these things and get away with it, she seethed, with frustration. He was 'insane'. No one would blink twice if he gave her a confession of undying love. But, God, if she were ever to give the slightest inclination that her feelings mirrored his own… The shit would hit the proverbial air-conditioning device.

"One last question, if you will allow me..." eyes grazing harshly over her skin. It felt as if she was being peeled open before him. Her body tightened. "Do you dream much, Clarice?"

This must have been the final straw for Mapp, or perhaps it truly was the end of Lecter's five minutes. Either way, the light atop the door blinked, signalling 'time up', and it clicked open. The guard's walkie-talkies crackled back into life, as the warden began issuing demands. Starling looked up as the door opened and Pearsall walked in.

"Okay, Starling, time's up."

She looked back over at the Doctor. He had not looked away.

"How do you sleep?" His words were whispers, but loud to her ear.

"Alone." Starling whispered back, her words as cool as she could manage.

_And it's hell too_.

The words did not have time to ruminate, for Pearsall stepped up to the table, taking Starling's arm, in what he must have figured to be a protective way.

"Ok, Doctor, we've carried our part of this bargain, now it's your turn. You do the tests – full cooperation – and you'll get your thirty minutes."

The Doctor lifted his head, folding manacled hands together, and nodded. Pearsall twitched against Starling's arm.

"Come along now, Starling."

At the door, Mapp appeared, holding out one hand, beckoning her forwards. Behind her, the guards had already moved in to replace that hideous mask around Lecter's face.

"Take care, Clarice." His voice caught her, halfway to the door. "Goodbye."

If Mapp had not reached out and taken her wrist, Starling thought she might have turned back. As she was led unceremoniously from the room, she chanced one look back at him. Half-obscured by the bodies of his guards and their equipment, she could still see his eyes, visible above the mouth restraint. She whispered goodbye, lips barely moving – more an echo of his words than a secret message.

Lecter blinked, but did not react.

_Goodbye_.

Separated by glass, now, Starling walked on, steered by Mapp. There were people and voices, but the world was spinning a bit. She couldn't quite make them out. Pearsall led her to a room where they were debriefed – it passed in a haze of words and signatures. Then, there were handshakes. She, Mapp and Vale – talking, shaking hands, accepting and giving out congratulations. Then they were moving again. Mapp's hand was hard on Starling's shoulder. They were heading downstairs.

Then another corridor. Then more stairs…

Starling hit an elbow on a door to as they passed through it, the pain jarring up her arm. Looking about, the room was familiar. She was here earlier that afternoon. Mapp led her to a row of seats, telling her to sit for a minute, that she looked white as a sheet.

Not prone to panic attacks, Starling still recognised their symptoms. She stood up again, pushing past her friend and walking, with as much decorum as she could manage, to the restroom. Pushing through the swing door, she staggered into the nearest cubicle and was sick.

.

There was something unspeakably hellish about Ardelia Mapp's position. All the way through Lecter's meeting she had sat, completely helpless, as her friend struggled through the worst five minutes of her life. And fucking Hannibal Lecter – Mapp could not imagine a more distressing person to interview, at the best of times. For Starling to have to sit, less than four feet away from the man who had kidnapped, tortured and raped her for the last three years? It was pretty damn unthinkable. Mapp couldn't even begin to imagine what her friend was going through right now.

A surge of anger coursed through the Agent, towards Pearsall and the FBI. How little they cared for their agents. How expendable she and Vale and Starling were, when the greater need of the bureaucrats arose! Inside the toilet stall, she heard Starling spit then sniff. She didn't ask if her friend was okay. She already knew the answer.

A gentle tap on the main door of the bathroom and its creaking, caused her to turn around. Vale's head had appeared around the door frame.

"She ok?" he mouthed, not wanting Starling – still inside the stall – to overhear.

Mapp nodded, lying for her friend. She walked over, leaving Starling to her business.

"She'll be fine."

Vale looked less than convinced, but did not push the matter.

"They're taking him down to the hospital for the first part of the evaluation. The doctors are already down there. They'll start the testing this afternoon, prob'ly get finished by tomorrow evening."

"Okay."

"If you want to take her home, she doesn't need to be here until after they finish, tomorrow."

"I shouldn't really leave."

"Its okay. Pearsall said I should supervise on this one. He'll be back later, to sign off on stuff. You jus' join us when you're ready."

Vale's deep eyes were fixed on hers. There was such care there – a gentle warmth which heated her all the way through. Mapp reminded herself to tell him that, one day. Some day soon, when all this business with Lecter was done, and Starling didn't need all her time and attention.

"Thanks."

Vale nodded and retreated from the bathroom. Mapp was left once more with Starling. She walked over and pushed against the ajar door, to find her friend seated on the closed toilet seat, head in hands. Sliding down against the stall frame, she sat there, one hand offered up against Starling's knee for comfort. Just being there.

Sometimes, it was all she could do.

.


	31. Chapter 31

_Chapter 31 – Fascination at first sight_

.

The day after Starling's interview, Agent Benedict Vale found himself back at the MCAC. He stood and turned his face skywards, feeling the air bite his cheeks pleasantly. It was decidedly cooler out here than inside, but it smelt far more pleasant. He inhaled deeply, enjoying his break to the fullest. There was a tang to the breeze – the scent of fallen leaves.

Agent Benedict Vale had spend most of yesterday and that morning cooped up inside airless interrogation suites, watching men in white coats poke and prod Lecter. The doctors had quizzed the convict on every scale, test and monitor known to mankind, but, so far, had yielded absolutely nothing of consequence. Nothing, Vale suspected, that Lecter did not want them to see.

Vale had taken to listening in on conversations between Lecter's many shrinks. In between Lecter's sessions, the doctors sat, muttering together in the spare interrogation suite – currently set up as a prep room for Lecter's FBI entourage. From what Vale overhead, it seemed that Lecter was scoring well within the parameters of a sane human. None of the tests had proved any abnormal psychological activity.

Lecter had even produced a written statement expressing his 'regret' at his acts – excluding him from classification as a sociopath. Everyone knew the sentiment was far from genuine, but no one seemed to want to look the gift horse in the mouth. Lecter did not want to spend the rest of his life in captivity and the FBI wanted him to fry, for the embarrassment he had put them through. The whole evaluation was simply a charade.

If anyone had asked Vale when he began on the case what lengths he would have gone to, to put Lecter away, he would have said 'anything'. But now, watching the FBI let Lecter fix these results… Benedict Vale was acutely aware of how wrong it felt.

The agent took a long drag on his cigarette, frowning into the wind as it blew the smoke back in his face. The back of his throat burned. It felt a little uncomfortable at his taking up of such a long-forgotten habit, but he inhaled again, regardless. The soothing rush of the nicotine into his blood was reward enough for the discomfort.

A noise sounded behind him – footsteps on the back MCAC staff stairwell. Ardelia Mapp made her entrance.

"Hey."

Vale heard her zip up her coat and turned to greet her. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold. She couldn't have been inside the MCAC long.

"Hey yourself." He beckoned for her to join him. "You manage to keep Starling at home today?"

"No." Mapp folded her arms over her red coat, bracing herself against the early evening chill. "She was going in this morning, whether I liked it or not. Told me I wasn't her mama."

Vale smiled.

"Sounds like Starling."

"She said that she wanted to work it off."

"That's a bit like walking off a brain tumour."

"I know, but it's Clarice." Mapp sighed. "She's as stubborn as a mule. Anyway, I drove her in and hung about most of the day - mostly gettin' in the way while she was gettin' on with things like this was any old day. She sneaked off after lunchtime to collect something to do with your Mendez case."

"What's she got left to do on Mendez?" Vale asked. He had been under the impression that the Mendez case was tied up nice and tight.

"God knows. Anyway, she had one of her rent-a-cop buddies give her a ride over here."

"What buddies?"

"I don't know, just some guy who works here - called Joe or Roe or somethin'. Anyway, she says she knows him from the Mendez case. He worked for the security company or somethin'." Mapp shrugged.

"Right."

There was quiet for a bit, as the two listened to the cars pass by, beyond the heavy fencing that separated the MCAC's grounds from the rest of downtown Baltimore. Eventually, Mapp spoke.

"Man, you know, I couldn't be like her. I'd be curled up in some catatonic mess somewhere. But Clarice…" Mapp shook her head. "She's acted so calm during this whole thing. Even when she was interviewing that thing. She just did it, you know, like it was nothin'."

"That's Starling, though."

Mapp tilted her head back to look up at the sky, clearly bemused by her best friend's attitude towards stress.

"She's a damn crazy woman…" she whispered, eyes tracing the outlines of clouds.

Vale nodded, but did not comment. If anyone other than herself said such a thing about Starling, Mapp would have ripped them a new one.

The chill of Baltimore November grew tenfold in the evening. It was to be only five degrees above freezing tonight. The temperature had dropped fast over the last week. It was now well and truly winter. Vale looked skyward. Through cloudless skies, dusk was creeping closer. The first pinpricks of stars had appeared at the eastern horizon. He squinted at one of them, hanging low, over the rooftop of the MCAC's roof, as he dug in his coat pocket, for another cig.

"You smoke now?"

Vale glanced over, as he flicked a cheap plastic lighter, cigarette cupped by his left hand.

"Nah, not really."

Mapp raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, I don't usually," Vale rephrased. "Used to, though." Lit up, he slipped the lighter back into his coat, sucking in deeply.

Mapp turned back out to the cold noise of the city, shoving her hands into the warmth created under her arms.

"Hey, I'm not judging."

"I know."

The sound of passing cars permeated the moment. Whoosh – rubber rolling over grit and accumulated road filth – then that empty sound that passing vehicles leave behind them. Negative sound.

Vale let smoke fill his lungs, doing it slowly, visualising, as he did so, the damage he was causing his system after years on the wagon.

"Is Lecter cooperating, then?"

Back to work.

"Yeah, fully." Vale nodded. "I wouldn't call it compliant, but he's doin' everything he promised."

"So why ya out here, coating your lungs in tar?"

Vale glanced over.

"You only smoke when you're stressed." A little smile graced Ardelia's Mapp's full lips. "I know because you used to roll post it notes into joints when somethin' went wrong with the case. 'Specially when you were on the phone over expenses."

Vale gave a little laugh, wondering how much this woman had learned about him, without him saying a word. Her eyes twinkled in response. She didn't do it often, but when Ardelia Mapp gave a real smile, her whole face opened up.

It was funny, really. All of his previous girlfriends, lovers and crushes had fit to a specific archetype; blonde and light-eyed, generally slim through the hip and short enough that he stood a head, or so, above them. It had been a trend set by the first girl he had ever fell in love with. As he profiled people for a living now, Vale could chose to pick apart his own life choices fairly effectively. He'd been fucking the girl who fucked him over, for the past eleven years. It was probably a healthy sign that the woman he had fallen for was out of his usual remit – even if she was also vastly out of his league.

Vale had first met Mapp during his time as a student, down in Quantico. Vale had been accepted to the FBI academy, after his years in the Marines. He had joined a class of students, all fresh from university. Not being particularly academically minded, Vale had to do a lot of extra studying to keep up with the crowd.

The day he and Mapp met, Mapp had been giving a lecture on money laundering and the human sex trade. It had been a long, boring lecture and Vale had been up late the night before, reading over by-laws for an exam. So, sitting in the front row of the warm, dark lecture hall, Vale had fallen fast asleep. Special Agent Ardelia Mapp had totally humiliated him, by pointing this out to his one-hundred-and-fifty peers. Vale had been embarrassed and royally pissed off. So, his attraction to her had hardly been fascination at first sight.

It was another two years before Vale and Mapp had come face-to-face again. Then, a newly graduated 'green' agent, Vale had been assigned to her team on a fraud investigation she was running; laundered notes in an Arlington bank. At first, he had been bummed out to get the posting, assuming that Mapp would spend the whole time riding him over their previous encounter. But, when they were introduced to one another, on the first day of the case, Mapp had simply not recognised him.

Vale had busted his ass on that case, trying to prove that he was not a useless student who fell asleep in class or a nameless 'green' Agent. He had busted his ass from nine till five and then from five till one – often working through the night, long after most agents had returned home. He took the jobs that the other new agents balked at. He finished boring paperwork, brought lunches, did coffee and pastry runs to the diner down the road. He did everything short of bend over backwards – and only because she never asked him to. Then, suddenly, there was a break in the case, and it was all over. Before Vale knew it, Mapp was away. She still had not remembered his name, but she did shake his hand instead of patting him on the back like the other agents.

Somewhere between that time and now, his strange love-hate attraction to Ardelia Mapp had grown into something a bit more serious. When he heard that she was working the Lecter-Starling case, he had been quick to find a way to help out. It took him a whole six months to get together enough information to warrant her attention. He brought her a lead and they followed it zealously. And, eventually – with many twists, turns and wild goose chases – it had led them right here.

Right here, to smoking on the back steps of the MCAC, awaiting Lecter's trial as a sane man. Right here, Vale more in love with her than ever, but just as hopelessly far from ever telling her.

"I should have quit years ago." He took another breath of his cigarette. "Apparently, it kills."

"Woah, really?"

Such beautiful mock surprise. Her dark eyes glimmered.

"Apparently."

Mapp smiled; a smaller smile this time, but tinged with more than a little heat. Then she moved closer, gripping her arms more tightly around her body, for warmth.

"It's friggin' cold out here." She tilted her head back again, delicate chin pointing up as she looked towards the stars.

Vale stifled a wistful sigh. They were friends now. The time for him to have told her his intentions had passed long ago; back when he had been far too nervous to do it. And now that he had become confident enough to say it, they were too close. That was irony, for you, thought Vale. He dropped his cig to the ground and stamped it out. Too close to get closer.

It was not that he was scared she did not reciprocate his feelings. They were both adults, they both had sexual desires. Sometimes, he caught her watching him, in a way that friends did not watch one another. He was a good nine years her junior, but he was not naïve. She hid it better, but it was definitely there. Heat, lust, desire. A fear of rejection was not why Benedict Vale refused to admit his feelings openly to his friend. His reason, was (and it sounded stupid even inside his own head) that as much as never being able to touch Ardelia Mapp hurt, the thought of losing her altogether was too terrible to bear.

Mapp sighed beside him – her hot breath briefly clouding the air.

"I used to know these constellations." She whispered softly. "Had me one of them little telescopes. My dad bought it for me, back when I was jus' twelve. Said I could be anythin' I wanted. I could be an astronaut if I worked hard enough." Another little sigh. "Everything's easier when you're jus' twelve."

Vale nodded softly.

"Yeah, twelve was good."

"Not so long ago, for you," Mapp joked gently.

Age had never bothered him before. But, sometimes, Vale could not help but wish that he could give up some of his years, to make him more of her equal – only because it mattered to her. Nine years had never seemed so much as when they stood between them.

"My mom used to take me outside, to watch meteor showers. She knew all the star names – liked 'em because they made her remember how small we were." Vale frowned slightly. "At the time, I thought it was pretty stupid. Who wants to be small at twelve, right? I was more interested in ridin' my bike an' playing soldiers."

Mapp smiled.

"I went to watch a meteor shower once. My dad drove me two hours out into the hills. He snuck me out after dark and we brought pancakes and one of mama's ol' flasks of hot chocolate..." A smile teased Mapp's lips. "My mom would'a killed him if she found out. Still prob'ly would. Said I needed to be concentratin' on my studies, not harin' over the hills with my mad hatter of a father."

"A wise woman."

"She is. But my daddy was right. You got to live a little, Vale. Livin's all that separates us from death."

"That, and taxes."

Mapp laughed openly, a rounded, warm sound which bubbled from her like water from a stream.

"Man…" Her eyes turned back towards the heavens. "It's real clear tonight."

"Real clear." Vale agreed.

Mapp's eyes were closed. Vale watched a storm of expressions flit across her features. They stood for a couple of minutes, Mapp's lips parted, throat moving as if she were about to speak, but then stopping herself. Eventually, blowing out a heavy breath of air, she shook herself slightly and turned her face back to him with a soft smile.

"You have plans this weekend?"

"Not really. Me and some of the guys have a game set up against Jake Gillespie, from Complaints dept, and his buddies from Fraud. Just a toss-about." Vale shrugged, hoping that bringing up sporting prowess did not count as showboating.

"Cool."

"You and Starling up to anything?"

Mapp gave a tight laugh.

"Well, she's busy all weekend. That girl's got a social calendar like nothin' on earth. God knows how, she's only been back for three months." Mapp sighed. She looked tired. "I'm not up to much. Charlie's back in town. Thought I might go see him."

Her eyes shifted, shyly, away from him.

"Catching up?"

"Yeah." She replied, quietly.

A strong urge to track Charlie down and beat him to a bloody pulp pervaded Vale's body and mind. He forced a smile.

"Good. Where's he been?"

"Oregon. He was doing six months at a friend's practice, filling in for his friend's wife. Maternity leave." Mapp explained.

"Right. So, lawyer, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm.."

Mapp laughed, a forced laugh.

"They're not all bad."

"I'll take your word for it."

Another polite chuckle.

Vale turned his attention forward, watching a car make crawling progress along the front of the building through the thick chain-link electric fence. Inside the blue sedan, she could see the outline of a woman carrying a large professional-looking camera. Paparazzi or reporters. Probably lurking outside for Starling to make her appearance. They Tattler had run a particularly interesting story yesterday, detailing some elaborated details of Lecter's 'deal' with the FBI – paying particular attention to the FBI's statement of a 'thirty minute meeting' with Agent Starling. The press were vultures.

The car hesitated there for a moment, then swept on, carried away in the streams of metal and light, heading deeper into downtown Baltimore.

It was nearly time for them to be heading back up to the fifth floor to watch Lecter's debriefing. They would have to be present for a hearing tomorrow, to hear the results of the evaluations and to schedule a final court date. Then, and only then, with full cooperation, would Lecter be allowed to have his meeting with Starling. It would probably take place the next week.

"Guess we should be heading in, then." Mapp murmured softly. She didn't sound much enthused by rejoining Lecter's lynching mob either.

"Guess so."

"You ready?"

"Yup."

Both Agents turned in at the same time, coming close to bumping heads. They both jerked back, in turn, offering the other to go first.

"Go on,"

Vale insisted harder, in the end, and Mapp took the doorway first.

Wistfully daydreaming about all the other ways their encounter could have finished (most of said daydreams involving the wall and a kind of behaviour he was pretty sure Ardelia Mapp didn't do much of – outside his lecherous mind), Vale followed his ex-partner inside. Warm, stale air met him as he stepped over the threshold. Shouldering his troubles and misgivings about their destination, Vale walked after Mapp.

The fire door slammed shut behind them, cutting the long white halls of the MCAC off from the rest of the world. Outside, Baltimore continued regardless; the cold noise of traffic beating mindlessly against the prison's impenetrable concrete walls.

.


	32. Chapter 32

_Chapter 32 – Terms and Conditions_

.

The evening at the MCAC and the next day in the hearing courts was every bit as exhausting as it had promised to be. Mapp and Vale listened to screeds of testimony from a number of doctors and psychologists, who all agreed on one subject; that Hannibal Lecter was in full control of his faculties and capable of being tried as a sane man.

At around half past five, the agents finally escaped from the clutches of the lawyers and went their separate ways. Vale headed home to get some well-earned sleep and Mapp headed back up across town to the MCAC. As she drove over, she thanked God that it would all be over soon and she wouldn't have to keep driving up to Maryland every other day. The miles were not doing her sedan any favours.

Ardelia Mapp arrived at the MCAC during the lull of the early-evening. After dinner and before lights out, the block was filled with the quiet chatter of the inmates. Her synthetic shoe soles slapped against the cold concrete as she made her way along Lecter's corridor. Unlike her first visit, there was little noise made at Mapp's arrival. The death-row inmates on the block (who, apart from Lecter and two others, were not kept in solitary confinement) had been cleared out of their cells, for exercise. The three cells on either side of the cannibal's side were empty. It was the best time of day to hold a private conversation.

Approaching Lecter's cell, she spotted him instantly - seated on the floor, at the far side of the cell. He was watching her through the net mesh; dark, dark maroon eyes moving slowly over her features. Quietly calculating, as ever.

"Doctor," She nodded curtly in greeting, managing to meet his gaze for just a second or two before her eyes flickered automatically away.

His stare was feral, barely human. His response, on the other hand, was the very height of propriety.

"Good evening, Agent Mapp."

"Good evenin' Dr Lecter."

"I take it my interrogation has yielded results satisfactory to your purposes?"

There was a lilt to his voice. He was mocking.

Mapp swallowed, forcing politeness.

"The doctors are compiling data for their report as we speak." she folded her arms across her chest, staring slightly to the left of the doctor's gaze. "It should be complete in a few days."

"My congratulations." His eyes were cold as liquid nitrogen.

"I see you've got your books back, Doctor."

Against the wall, the desk which had lain sparse since his incarceration now was home to three heavy-looking tomes. Mapp knew that his defence attorney had wrangled the books as an added perk for good behaviour, during the psych evaluations. The FBI had been so glad to have Lecter's cooperation that they had leapt at the request.

The Doctor nodded in response to Mapp's statement, his eyes never leaving hers. His reserve could have easily been mistaken for disinterest, but for the sharpness in his eyes. They were predatory. Mapp decided to push on with conversation. She'd be damned if she showed her nerves to this man.

"Anyway, you'll stand before court in a weeks' time. If all goes well, your meeting with Agent Starling will take place after. Your lawyer will be by with the exact dates nearer to the time."

Lecter made no move to speak. Mapp suppressed a shiver. His eyes were boring through her, sweeping the lines of her body; her neck, her shoulder, collarbone, sternum, waist, and hip. The Doctor's eyes flickered back up to her face. Mapp shuffled one foot, shoe leaving a narrow black trail on the linoleum floor. Any uncomfortable silences she had experienced before had they were nothing on this. This man knew how to drop a room to subzero, with a single stare.

"I have left the paperwork with the guards. They'll hand it over to you after I've left, so you can have a good look over it."

Still, no response from Lecter.

"Well, if you've not got any questions on the matter, I'll be leavin'."

"Just the one question; I assume that the paperwork you have kindly left with my supervisors will contain details of my upcoming rendezvous with Miss Starling?"

"Yes."

"Thirty minutes, one-on-one and no mouthpiece, as per described in my deal?"

"Almost. It's been decided that the meeting will be set up in a visitation booth."

"A visitation booth was not part of our initial agreement." Lecter informed her, politely. His tone was not angry, but it carried a hint of warning.

"We don't got anywhere else where we can ensure Starling's security."

"Our three minute, was held in one of the facility's interrogation suites. Are they not suitable?"

"Judge doesn't feel comfortable allowing your mouth restraints to be removed for extended periods of time, without a glass barrier." And neither do I, Mapp thought, folding her arms across her chest.

"My defence has been involved in writing up these new terms?"

"Yes. This morning. He will be up to speak with you in about," Mapp checked her watch "half an hour."

Lecter tilted his head, considering this, and then nodded.

"The booth it is then."

"No mouthpiece, no jacket, cuffs – hands and feet – only. You'll get your thirty minutes, just either side of three-inch plate glass." …And if you try anything on with my girl, Mapp though, jaw tightening, I'll make the last months of your life a living hell.

The Doctor stretched, and rose from his position under the dark window. He had a certain way of moving, with catlike smoothness. It unnerved Mapp to no end.

"Well then," Lecter smiled, politely. "I believe our journey together has come to an end."

"For the time being."

"A shame, Agent Mapp, our visits were just beginning to become interesting."

Mapp felt a thrill of anger shoot up from her belly, to heat her throat.

"Is that how you measure the worth of a human being, then, Doctor – if they _interest_ you?"

Her outburst was greeted with a stoic blink.

"Is that why you took her?" Is that why you took my friend away? Is that why you tortured her for years? Mapp bit back the words she longed to throw at him, tempered her anger and lowered her tone. "Or is it jus' some sick love story, like the 'papers make out?"

"To what cause to you wish me to justify my actions, Agent Mapp – to reach a greater understanding of the mind of a killer? To forgive, to reach absolution?"

"To forgive?" Mapp surprised even herself, with the frost of her voice. "I will never forgive you... and neither will Starling!"

"All that glisters is not gold, Agent Mapp." Lecter responded, his voice quiet and clipped. "You profess to know a great deal about what your friend is thinking, but she is not the Clarice Starling who left you, all those years ago."

"Don't-"

The word exploded from Mapp's mouth before she could stop it, echoing loudly in the quiet cell block. The inmate a few cells down, across the hall from Lecter, lifted their head. At the door-end of the corridor, the guard in the secure booth paused, mid page-turn in his magazine. Swallowing, Mapp forced her breathing to regulate and her voice to lower.

"Don't dare talk to me about her, like you know her more than I do! Don't give me that psycho-bullshit!" Mapp bit her lip. "That girl – that woman – is closer than a sister to me. I _know_ Clarice Starling. I know her and I know that, whatever hell you've put her through, she'll only come out stronger."

The Doctor's eyes were still fixed on hers, black pupils dilated wide. His breathing had not changed, nor his expression.

"Do you know, Agent Mapp, of the paradoxical psychological phenomenon, first coined by the Swedish psychiatrist, Nils Bejerot, after the robbery of the Kreditbanken in Norrmalmstorg Stockholm?"

"What?"

"Pardon." The Doctor corrected reflexively.

Mapp glared.

Lecter continued.

"From August the twenty-third until August the twenty-eighth, 1973, four bank employees were held hostage by two robbers. The hostages expressed emotional attachment to their captors, even going so far as to defend them after they were freed." Slipping slender hands into his prison scrub pockets, he began to sidle towards his bed.

"Stockholm syndrome."

"According to FBI statistics, roughly twenty-seven percent of victims show evidence of Stockholm syndrome."

"Bullshit." Mapp muttered.

"Your own statistics-."

"I don't give damn about your "statistics" and your fancy words, Lecter. My friend couldn't care for a monster like you. Besides, I know what you did to her – I know what you had to _force_ her to do. I've read the police reports!"

Maroon eyes darkened to the deepest red.

"All that glisters…" he repeated again, in a softened voice.

"You drugged her on morphine and tied her down! Or are you suggesting that I misread that too?"

"Oh, I would never presume to doubt your acute observation skills, Special Agent Mapp."

"Don't patronise me." Mapp snapped, pacing back a few feet from his cell, then forwards again.

"Residual bruising around the wrists, patterns indicating proximal-to-distal direction of force. 60mg Diazepam in her bloodstream, sample taken three hours after recovery. Evidence of sexual intercourse within the last forty-eight hours..."

He was quoting extracts of the police report, verbatim.

"How'd you get the police scripts?"

"My attorney was kind enough to send me a copy last weekend, although he neglected to include a copy of the FBI doctor's exam on Miss Starling. I would be most interested to have a look, if you could possibly procure them."

"You're disgusting." Mapp spat. "A twisted... freak. You don't deserve to stand in the same room as a woman like Clarice Starling. Hell, you don't even deserve to share the same air! She's brave as hell, you know. Clarice is ten times the woman I could hope to be. By God, I'm a catholic, born and raised, but there wouldn't be nothin' on God's earth that could make me keep some... thing – some part of you – growing inside of me!..."

Lecter's reaction was minute, but instantaneous. His eyes widened, lips parting. Mapp didn't even notice it at first, being far too involved in her tirade.

"...You know, I admire her. She's moving on with her life, even after the shit that you put her through. Even after..."

Mapp trailed off, becoming suddenly aware of _what_ the Doctor had reacted to, hardly able to believe it.

Lecter's shifted his gaze from her eyes to the wall. A tiny flicker of a frown had appeared – a crease in his forehead that was slightly darker than before.

"You... you didn't know?" Mapp couldn't quite believe it. "But you know everything other damn bit of information about the case. How could you not know?"

The Doctor looked as if he were trying to determine whether this accidentally revealed information given was to be trusted. It seemed to have caught him quite off guard.

Hannibal Lecter off guard. A disbelieving laugh escaped Mapp's lips.

"You didn't know?" she repeated, her incredulity growing by the second.

The Doctor did not reply. Straightening up, he dipped his head slightly, as if bidding her goodbye, then retreated back into his cell. Standing in the darkness of the corner, the expression on his face was obscured by shadow. His stance, however, was emotionless; muscles held ready, but not tense. He could have been a businessman, waiting for a bus, rather than a man who had just learnt of his participation in the conception of another living being.

At the same time, Mapp was undergoing her own revelation; the realisation that she had just let slip Starling's state, mere weeks before her friend had to sit through a thirty-minute meeting with the cannibal. Starling had never strictly forbid her to talk about it... but Mapp got the feeling that what she had just inadvertently done something very, very stupid. And there was nothing she could do to take it back.

Mapp turned and fled down the hallway. Her footsteps quickening, doubling pace, until she was striding. She reached the security booth and slammed her palm against the glass there. The guard pressed a few keys to unlock the doors and moved, to rise from his seat and escort her out. By the time he was on his feet, however, Mapp had already moved forwards and seized the door handle. With a hefty shove, she pushed her way out into the corridor, into the reprieve of beige walls, after the long white walls of the Supermax block. Ardelia Mapp breathed deeply.

"Shit." She repeated to herself, loud in the silence of the empty hall.

A prison guard walked by, a couple hundred feet away, his keys jangling against the metal pin on his keycard. Mapp's her heartbeat filled her ears, panic filling her senses. Rising, and then dissipating with the careful regulations of her breaths.

It was fine, Mapp told herself. Lecter was bound to find out soon enough anyway. By the time Starling next saw him, there would be no way of hiding her condition. And that was taking it for granted that the media wouldn't have got wind of it by then (an unlikely scenario). This wasn't really a big deal at all. No... it was fine. Her minor fuck-up would not cost her, or Starling, too dearly.

Mapp ran her hand over her mouth, still not quite believing that her own lips had betrayed her so. How could she let something like that just slip?

"Shit..."

But it was ok. It would all be fine. She would tell Starling what had happened later on and Clarice would agree.

Hannibal Lecter couldn't hurt them anymore. He was locked behind titanium bars, inside two feet of concrete, along long hallways and key-card locked doors. He wore prison scrubs and lived in room the size of a large bathroom. He was watched twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. No contact with the outside world, no exercise, no visitation. Nothing. He couldn't even take a leak without the guards seeing him. There was nothing he could do to hurt them anymore.

No, thought Mapp – straightening herself up and heading down the corridor, out towards the car park where her beat-up car waited to drive her to her washed-up office, where piles of paperwork and angry colleagues awaited her – it would all be fine. She would go back to work, finish up, go home, maybe grab Starling some pizza on the way home, and explain the whole situation. She'd even walk the dog for a couple days as penance. Yeah, Mapp assured herself. It would all be just fine.


	33. Chapter 33

_Chapter 33 – Into the blue_

_._

Doctor Hannibal Lecter was a man who knew many things.

He knew that on the average ear of American corn, there were sixteen rows of kernels. He knew that every December, thousands of European Starlings descended on Rome; wheeling through the skies in beautiful synchrony, before settling to roost in the trees and rooftops along the Tiber. Of the hundreds of nerves of the human body, he knew each individually and the muscles they innervated. With just a piece of paper and some charcoal, he knew how to create an accurate representation of a place or person. He knew the way music was teased from a set of ivory keys.

The Doctor knew many things. However, knowing another person – it turned out – was completely different to knowing a fact. It seemed infinitely more delicate a process.

That Clarice Starling could surprise him had always been part of her appeal. It was what held his attention, when she first walked into the Baltimore asylum, all those years ago. It was the reason he came back, when he could have disappeared forever. At first glance, she had seemed simple; a well-polished rube. But with each layer he peeled back, each stolen revelation, she became only more fascinating.

Over the last few years, he had taken it upon himself to learn her completely. He had tested, he had listened; he had plumbed the depths of her psyche and returned more perplexed than he had started. At first glance, she had seemed simple, but this was not the case. Not at all. Scar tissue ran deeper than even she knew. His Starling was beautifully flawed – damaged perhaps as much as he. And yet, she was capable of so much passion, so much love. Love, which she bestowed, willingly upon him; love of a kind he had never experienced. It was not like the love of family – who, like it or not, are bound by blood – but the love of two people who just happened to collide. Amidst the horror of the world, they had managed to collide and had been brave enough to love one another.

Had they committed some karmic crime by being so happy? Perhaps. It was rare, he knew, to find love and contentment in the same person. But, for nearly three years, they had revelled in it. They never tired of one another, nor grew restless for their previous, lonely lives. Space was a necessity, as it is in any relationship. But both partners knew this and respected each other's boundaries. Starling never asked him to be anything other than he was and he responded in kind – _quid pro quo_. Just like old times. With this new love growing between them, learning her suddenly seemed less important.

Leaning back against the cold wall of his prison cell, the Doctor gave a wry smile.

He did not begrudge Starling her freedom. He had helped procure it, after all. Nevertheless, from some place deep inside – somewhere reason could not permeate – resentment reared its ugly head. Why had she not told him? Or, if not tell him directly (for fear of someone finding out the truth) let him know in some other way. She was more than capable of slipping him a message. It would have only taken a few words. Perhaps she had, misguidedly, assumed that she was saving him pain?

The Doctor traced his fingers across the folds in his prison uniform, thinking.

The FBI would have run all forms of medical evaluation, once she was back in their grasp. She had to have known since then. What a surprise, to find herself pregnant, after she had thought the child miscarried. They must have made a mistake at the London clinic. Blood spotting could meant very little and ultrasounds, at such an early stage, were often unreliable – especially in the hands of an ill-trained professional. He should have known better than to trust the NHS. With free medical care, you get what you pay for.

Lecter ran through dates in his head. The raid on their New York house was nearly four months ago; she had to be nearly five months pregnant by now. How had he not noticed earlier? They had met and talked for more than five minutes – the prerequisite to his psychological exams. How had he not sensed the change in her? Four months... she had known for four months... And not said a word.

The Doctor felt his body tense – muscles bunching. She must have known that he would find out. Their meeting was in three weeks' time. Even the FBI could not disguise her condition by then. So, why not tell him? Had he completely misjudged her character? Was he no more than a sperm donor to her?

Anger boiled.

No – the Doctor countered himself. Only unreasonable men felt anger at something they could not change. Only weak men caused themselves to suffer needlessly through emotions they did not need to feel. Being neither unreasonable nor weak, the Doctor should be able to control himself. Rage would not change the fact that Clarice had not told him about the child. It would not change his current circumstances, or comfort him against his helplessness. It would not erase the vision of his Clarice continuing her life – raising their child – as if he had never existed. No, it was better to bypass emotion altogether.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the cell around him, retreating back into his memories. Things there were easier to control.

.

"_Well, catch me, then."_

"_Role reversal, Clarice?"_

_Starling, looking back, over one shoulder, shot him a coy smile._

_They were walking back along the beach, after dinner. He carried a bottle of champagne between his middle and ring finger. It was heavy, the glass hard and cold against his skin. Condensation dripped down the bottle and onto his bare feet. Sand was hot between his toes. Try as he might, he cannot remember why they were barefoot._

_Silence incredible; just the hiss of waves on sand, and birdsong._

"_I'm serious. You're not getting anythin' 'til you catch me."_

_Walking twenty feet ahead of him, he could see all of her in her glory. Shorts rolled up around her toned thighs. Her skin had bronzed in the sun and she looked healthier than he had ever seen her. The blue in her eyes looked stronger, against the backdrop of the ocean._

"_Nothin'?"_

"_Nothin'."_

_Starling raised one hand, against the glare of the sun, walking backwards through the sand. He had stopped, to watch her. Standing on the balls of her feet, toes dug into the sand, her calf muscles worked gently. Teasing, ready to run. She was young and full of life – and her enthusiasm was infectious._

"_Well, I suppose I'd better-."_

_He dropped the bottle and took after her. Starling clearly hadn't expected him to participate in her little game, for she took a moment to turn herself. A moment was all he needed. Sand flew, she scattered. Long-distance, he wouldn't have stood a chance, but his legs were longer. Three strides and two seconds later, he captured her around the waist, much to her delight and squeals._

"_Ok, ok, you got me!"_

_A kiss._

_Tender, yet demanding. The tremble in her lip spoke of deeper desires. The sound of her panting awakened the same desires in him._

"_You got me..."_

_He lessened his grip on her, allowing her body to slid down his, and her feet to lie flat in the sand again. Her eyes didn't leave his._

_Hot sand, hot air. The salt on the sea breeze, and the faintest taste of it on her lips. She swam earlier, in the bay – smooth and golden amongst the breaking waves. He watched her from the sand. It was one of those moments when she seemed something more than human to him. Something other._

_How long could she swim? Probably out to the distant horizon and back. He had watched her move, rapt._

_If she called out, would he follow her into the waves? Could she lure him like Aycayia, the Caribbean mermaid? An incarnation of beauty and sin, who gave men pleasure but robbed them of will. If she wanted, could she lead him to his death, out into the blue?_

.

He had no doubt that she could. Even then, in the giddy heights of their love, he had known that Clarice Starling would be his demise.

.

_Lips against his, wet with heat and desire._

_Her eyes, sparkling blue_.

.

Anger moved faster than sadness, so it was this emotion that Lecter acted upon first. Standing, he struck out, with one hand, sending the contents of his desk top crashing to the floor. The noise was deafening in the silence of the afternoon prison block.

Deep colour, indescribable, flooded him, pervading from every corner of his consciousness. Anger cut his periphery, focussing his mind's eye on what was directly in front of him.

.

_Eyes teasing – she knew he wanted her and she played with that knowledge. Twisting her body sideways, she looked back; throwing him heated glances as she danced away along the sand, to their rented villa. He walked after her, in awe. _

_Overhead, the sky towered with threatening purple. Cloudless day had given way to tempestuous evening. His girl waited at the front door. As he watched, she pulled her t-shirt free over her head, and dropped it on the deck. Naked underneath, she smiled again, and walked slowly back inside the villa._

_Hot, heavy raindrops began to land around him._

.

Starling echoed in his memory; her face, her eyes, her voice calling his name.

Finding solace in the strength of his body, Lecter landed his fist, hard, against the stainless steel mirror plate. It bent and the edge pulled back from the concrete wall. The freshly uncovered metal was sharp, and drew a deep gash across the thenar eminence of his thumb. He slammed his fist into the metal again. The blood smeared across it.

Pulled away from love, it burnt hotter. Yet, he felt less than half of what they had been, together. Surely, this must be insanity? His heart beat a little faster.

.

_The storm that had raged outside was dying now. Heavy rain still peppered the side of the villa – like hammer beats in the hot night. His girl lay beside him, chest shining with shared sweat. One of her hands lay across his chest, over his heart. Her eyes were sincere._

"_You really do have me, you know." And she had meant it._

.

She had never meant to hurt him. In all likelihood, she had meant to save him pain. Yet, this small betrayal – this secret she had kept – hurt more than knowing she had stood up in court, and testified against him.

He turned and struck out again, knocking the stack of appeal papers and trial paraphernalia that he had accumulated on his table. Then he knocked over the table itself. It upended easily. It had not been screwed down. The bloodied print of his hand marked its plastic top. Staggering backwards, Lecter sat down heavily on the cot bed and compressed the wound in his other palm.

Around him, the block was exploding with noise. His outburst had awoken and enlivened the other inmates. The guards were yelling. He could hear their footsteps. He hadn't broken like this since he was a young man – perhaps even a child. The Doctor exhaled deeply. His breaths were irregular, his heart pumping doubly as hard as it would at rest. The pain in his hand was uncomfortable, but nothing on the sudden realisation of loss, creeping into his heart.

His Clarice had not told him because she had wanted to save him unnecessary pain... because she had resigned herself to his fate. Up until this moment, Lecter had thought he had resigned himself too. But, it seemed, human nature had one cruel trick left up its sleeve. Hope.

"Prisoner 206, get back against the wall, put your hands on your head!"

Never did the Doctor feel more vulnerable than when coursing with emotion. Never did he show his vulnerability less.

The guards arrived, but Lecter did not look at them. He did not show any hint of anger, or pain – even as they battered him into the corner with guns and batons. They tied him tightly and dragged him from the wreckage that was his belongings. In the holding cell, Lecter stared blankly at the white padded walls. The anger, which had surged through him, dwindled now – replaced by a duller, more permanent ache. Loss. The Doctor closed his eyes, allowing the feeling to permeate his body. Only when he was at one with the emotion, could he accept it, and control it. And he must control it. Emotion could drive a man to insanity, if left unchecked – he had flirted with the prospect just minutes ago.

The holding cell was quiet, though his ears still rang with the noise of the Supermax block. The prisoners were still shouting outside. All sound was muffled. The cuffs of his straight-jacket were too tight. His fingertips were beginning to tingle.

As the aching grew, Lecter let himself relax into it. Loss, he could deal with. He was good at loss. It came with practice. The first step was to drown it out.

From the corners of his mind, he pulled forth rolling clouds of purple. He reeled this fog in, pulling it closer, until there were no white padded walls surrounding him and no shouting of the prisoners outside. It surrounded him until there were no memories, no thoughts and no Starling... only creeping purple, growing closer... closer, and then inside.

Purple haze was in his brain. His mind slipped back behind it. Here, there was no MCAC. There were no walls, no bars, no emotion, no loss, no pain – not even memories. Just purple... rolling purple... It worked into his blood, coursing through him, permeating his body, from legs to now-numb fingertips. All purple. Through skin, muscle, bone, it crept inwards. And with it, the only outward manifestation of his torment; a faintest sigh of regret.

Then it touched his heart, and he belonged to it alone.


	34. Chapter 34

_Chapter 34 - A plan in motion_

.

The pink streaks of cloud, which had earlier painted the sky, were fading from sight as the sun dropped below the horizon. As night fell, Clarice Starling roused herself from her afternoon nap. Her movements were as exact and purposeful as ever. It was nearly six-thirty and she needed to get moving. She had business to attend to tonight.

Starling rose from her bed and brushed her hair back into a ponytail, above the nape of her neck. Then walking to the bathroom, she turned on the shower. As she undressed, Starling mentally ran through her itinerary for the evening. She had left no room for error but, as long as she was careful and stuck to the plan, Clarice Starling had no doubt that her goals would be achieved.

And if not – Starling thought, as she stepped into the hot steam of the shower – she had a long stretch in prison awaiting her.

Starling tilted her head back, letting the scorching water run down her neck and warm her chest. Anxieties filled her mind, somersaulting over one another in a bid for supremacy. Not least were her worries over the moral justification of her actions. Seeking to dull the doubts inside her, Starling forced herself into action. She washed and conditioned her hair and scrubbed her body thoroughly with a hard sponge.

The soap she lathered on her body was from the local drugstore. Cheap, white soap, with 'value' printed in thin red letters on the label. She had chosen it purposefully, for its ostentatious lack of class. She winced as she worked it into her skin. In a way not dissimilar to paint stripper, the soap felt like it was peeling off a layer of her skin with each swipe of the sponge. As she ran the sponge over her swollen abdomen, Starling felt movement stir from within her. She paused.

The sensation was one she had not become accustomed to yet. It was odd, a sort of fluttering, turning movement which she could only describe as that of another person – the sort you would normally feel externally. It still caused her heart rate to leap upwards. Yet, she was surprised to find it was not entirely unpleasant.

Starling forced her mind back onto more pressing matters, like the night's rapidly nearing events. To start with, she needed to swing by the office and speak to one of her graduate assistants, who had been pulling some files for her on the Mendez case.

The curious case of Mendez's past incitements had interested Starling from the start. The convictions on his file did not match his current profile. When she was first placed on the case, as Vale's new partner, Starling had expressed unease about Mendez's guilt. Everything she had ever learned told her that there was something wrong with the psychological profile and her newest research confirmed it. The Mendez on the file was not the Mendez in the cage. Vale would chide her for spending so much time checking her theory, but Starling had a lot more riding on the profile that he did. Mendez was the key to her liberation of Hannibal Lecter; she was hardly about to place all her trust in him without an in-depth analysis.

After visiting the J Edgar Hoover building, she would be heading directly to the MCAC. The adjustment centre had strict visitation rules, but Starling had had called ahead to secure an emergency meeting with Mendez, under the pretence of serving appeal papers. It had to be tonight. Tonight, the Doctor – lodged in the cell diagonal to Mendez – had spent the day undergoing psychological evaluation. His security detail would be tired and careless. Security guard Jason Roe would also be on duty tonight; this too was essential.

Starling ran over the plan once more.

She would walk in and wait in the designated room for a guard to come and collect her, to take her up to supermax block. Once up on floor five, she would be directed to the interview room where Lecter's psych evaluation had been carried out, earlier that day. Mendez would be there, already secured and waiting for her arrival. With any luck, Roe would be the guard watching over the pair of them - but this was not essential. She would ask to speak to Mendez alone. The guards should have no problem with this. After all, she was a federal employee. She had seniority over all of them. If they challenged her, she would go over their heads, to the warden. It was essential that she spoke to Mendez alone. Everything depended on what went on between the two of them tonight.

Giving her skin one last scrub, Starling washed out the sponge and replaced it on the side of the bath. Hopefully, she had eradicated most of her natural scent. Even stressed from a day spent fixing psych evaluations, the Doctor would still be highly observant. He would smell the changes in her body, and he couldn't know... Starling stepped out of the shower and rubbed herself down with a plush towel, before wrapping it around herself and walking through to her bedroom. What would he do if he did find out? Starling picked up her clothes from the bed, underwear first, and began to dress herself. She honestly had no idea how the Doctor would react. And, for that simple reason, she had decided to withhold her condition from him for as long as possible. It would only complicate matters.

As she gathered her bag and files, preparing to leave, her phone rang. Starling leant over to read the caller ID. It was Ardelia. After a pause, Starling decided not to answer. She needed to focus. Her friend could wait until she returned from the MCAC. Slipping her feet into her most comfortable shoes, Starling grabbed her effects and made her way towards the front door. As she pulled the door open, Starling heard the phone stop ringing in her room and felt a pang of guilt.

"Sorry Dee."

She made to leave, but a tinkling of dog tags postponed her. Starling looked down at her young pet, yawning and wagging his tail at her feet.

"You're not coming." she bent down and ruffled his ears.

While far from mellow, she had found the juvenile Golden Retriever to be an amiable animal. Starling had put a dog basket in her living room, and Gil seemed to take to it fine.

The dog wiggled, and pranced.

"Hey, you had a five mile hike earlier – don' get sassy! Ya can go hang out in your room till I get back."

Starling retrieved a fist-sized rawhide chew from the front porch and tossed it down the hall. The young dog followed it eagerly, nails click-clacking on the hardwood flooring. Grasping her keys from the side table, Starling slipped out and closed the door behind her. No barking came from inside. Gil would be happy with his new toy - he probably wouldn't even notice she had gone.

She walked briskly back to her car and jumped into the driver's seats, setting the tan envelope and her bag on the seat beside her, like an unsavoury passenger. Then, shifting the car into gear, she edged backwards out of the driveway and switched on her lights. Starling did not look back at the duplex as she set off.

.

Vale's truck was one of the few parked in the underground car park, when Starling arrived at the J Edgar Hoover building, thirty minutes later. Supposedly, he was working late. Starling heaved a slightly apprehensive sigh. Of late, Vale had been paying undue attention to the Mendez case, and her continued involvement in it, even though the case was 'officially' closed. At the moment, he had no idea of the extent of her involvement. But, if he kept poking his nose in, Starling knew that he would eventually dig something up.

Starling grabbed her things and left her car in the lot, the door snapping closed with a satisfying metallic 'clang'. Her footsteps clicked against the concrete as she made her way over to the elevators, up to the main building. As she approached them, they pinged, and two men in black suits emerged from inside, talking intently to one another. They both paused and nodded to Starling as she passed, and Starling recognised them as one of the district directors and an attorney from the 'complaints' office - Mapp's arch enemy. They exchanged perfunctory greeting and both proceeded along their respective paths; Starling to the elevator, the two men to a black sedan, humming in neutral a few spaces away. Starling stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground floor button, watching the black-suits until the doors closed, shielding them from sight.

She hated how everyone knew her now. Fame, or perhaps, infamy, was not as desirable as one might imagine - even if it did allow her perks, such as nine-o-clock meetings with high-security convicts.

The elevator was shiny and new - a titanium upgrade of the ancient beige relic which had existed here, in Starling's early days at the FBI. She could remember making this trip, years ago, at seven in the morning; fresh from Quantico and eager to impress. How eager she had been, to live up to her success with Hannibal Lecter - to prove herself as more than a one-trick-pony. Now, she made the journey far more reluctantly. Now, it was she, not the elevator, who was tired and weary of the world. A little worn around the edges, scuffed and bruised.

Starling sighed. All she craved was to be curled up in bed, her back securely against the warmth of her lover. But that moment was a long way away - at least, for the moment - and it was a waste of time to dwell on it. For her to have any hope of being reunited, she must first survive tonight.

The elevator doors gave way to the lobby of the FBI building, and Starling stepped out as soon as they opened. Walking quickly, she cleared security and passed up to the second floor with no interruptions. Then it was down the hall, to her little cubby-hole of an office. She picked up two letters left in her in-tray, then popped through next door, to the mess of desks that was the Violent Crime's current case unit. There were five agents milling around the room, all of varying levels of the FBI hierarchy.

A senior analyst typed away at her keyboard. Another agent was loitering near the photocopier while two of his colleagues discussed something in undertones, over by the water cooler. Supervisory Special Agent Hodgins ranted into his cell phone, visibly red behind the glass front of his office. Starling looked around the room again, searching for the trainee she was looking for. She spotted her makeshift workstation and made her way over.

"Good evenin' Miss Sullivan."

"Agent Starling?"

A young woman's head popped out from behind a two-foot high stack of paperwork. Her mousy brown hair was ruffled up one side and her eyes were bleary. Clearly napping face-first in her files. There was a smudge of blue ink on her left cheekbone but Starling decided not to mention it.

"Hey, you have the results from the searches I asked you to run?"

"Yeah, yeah... somewhere..." Sullivan swiped her ruffled hair back off her face. "I'm sorry; I thought you'd be coming up earlier tonight. I've been so busy and when I got them back I must have put them... Damn..." she rustled through her papers some more, cheeks colouring.

"It's no problem, Agent. I know the drill." Starling shot the younger woman what she hoped was a friendly smile. "We've all been there."

Sullivan pulled a tired smile.

"First year on the job?" Starling asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I can remember it... distantly." She added with a wince.

Sullivan smiled shyly and dug deeper in the piles of paperwork. She still looked worried. Starling noticed that she was digging through her in-tray rather than her out-tray, and wondered if they taught document handling at the academy anymore.

"Sorry… sorry… ah-ha!" Sullivan seized upon a thin manila folder. "Gotcha!" she presented the folder to Starling, looking a little proud and a little sheepish. "Here you go, Agent. Sorry for the wait."

"No problem. Keep up the good work." Starling turned and headed off, looking back over her shoulder. "And Sullivan...?"

The young Agent looked worried again.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Get some sleep."

"Yes, ma'am, will do."

Another ride in the elevators and she was back on the ground floor, heading towards the exit. She was just congratulating herself on managing to walk through FBI headquarters without bumping into someone, when a voice called out her name.

"Starling?"

The voice was instantly recognisable as Vale.

"Starling!"

She pretended not to hear him, stepping into the elevators and reaching for the button. However, fate had other plans. Vale skidded into the elevator beside her, squeezing between the closing doors.

"Phew! Close one. Wha'sup with you, Agent? Didn't hear me, or jus' sore over me whippin' you on the range?"

Starling glanced sideways, raising her eyebrow.

"Ok, point one; you did NOT whip me."

"What d'ya call those fifty points then?"

"Luck. Now, onto point two; what'ya doin' here so late?"

"Checkin' up on you."

Starling looked over, slightly on-edge. This was not the most comforting thing to hear when she was about to go and commit a felony.

"Checking up on what, _per se_?" she asked, tentatively.

Vale shrugged.

"I was in the department, gettin' that new girl, Sullivan, to run some searches for me."

"Mmhmm?" Starling felt a familiar sinking feeling permeate her stomach.

"Anyway," Vale continued, "I saw you were running employment records on Mendez."

"Yeah... and?"

"And I wondered why, is all."

"I was being thorough, Vale. God, are you always this nosy - or just where I'm concerned?" something occurred to Starling and she turned to face Vale accusingly. "Has Mapp got you running surveillance on me?"

"Nope, I just don't get why you're taking such an interest in this case." He shrugged. "I mean…" he paused. "Is there something going on that I don't' know about?"

Starling's eyebrows rose.

"What ya trying to suggest?" She snorted with forced bravado. "That I'm withholding information in a Federal investigation?"

"No, of course not."

"I was just being thorough." She reiterated.

Starling felt the clock ticking inside her head. She had an important schedule to keep and Vale was only going to be a hindrance. The only way was lose him.

"Listen, Vale, I've got to run."

"Where you off to? Bit late for the gym."

She shot him a glance which told him she was in no mood for playing.

"I've got a meeting with Mendez tonight. I'm serving him his appeal papers."

Vale frowned.

"I thought we were doing that tomorrow, together." He added the last word with an edge of bitterness.

"I didn't think you'd mind missing it, and I realised that I had a doctor's appointment tomorrow, so I changed the date."

Vale's eyes flickered down to Starling's belly.

"Oh, ok. Sure." A pause. "…Want me to come along?"

Starling raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"To the meeting, Vale clarified quickly, "not the appointment."

"No, no. I'll be fine." She waved her hand. "You've probably got plans anyway. I know not everyone works all night like I do."

"Well if you fancy the company," Vale shrugged. "I don't got plans."

Damn.

"Well I've got some other stuff to do beforehand. Anyway, it's in and out - barely there, really. I won't be more than ten minutes inside."

"Well if you have other stuff to do, I could run the papers up to-."

"I'm actually capable of serving a damn paper, Vale!"

There was silence in the elevator. In time to the resounding awkwardness of the moment, the doors 'ping'ed open, to reveal the almost deserted car lot.

"I've gotta go." The short, terse statement was designed to make him feel unwanted. Though it pained Starling to hurt a man she'd come to think of as a friend, she knew it was necessary. "I'm sorry, Vale" she cushioned the blow with a sigh and a false explanation. "It's just, with everything going on... I need to be alone for a while."

"I understand." Vale replied, with a forced smile. From his eyes, it was evident that he did not.

Starling nodded anyway.

"See you tomorrow if you're still on for lunch?"

"Yeah. Twelve-thirty, at Tino's?"

"See you then."

Vale lingered in the elevator for a moment longer and then headed off towards his car. He waved a hand to bid Starling goodbye.

Starling watched him go.

"Sorry for being a bitch." she muttered under her breath. "But it's for your own good, kid. You don't wanna get caught up in this." Half shaking her head, Starling walked to her car, got in, and drove out of the lot, papers clutched in her hand.


	35. Chapter 35

_Chapter 35 -Suspicious minds_

_._

Vale had never expected himself and Starling to become bosom buddies, but he had always thought that the rapport between them was becoming one of friendship, rather than strictly colleagues. After today, however, he found himself doubting this judgement.

The evening had come upon him rather suddenly, though Vale's day had been a long one. His stomach was twisted with hunger – the last thing he'd eaten was last night's supper and the nutritional value of cornflakes and two week old milk was debatable at best – he was exhausted, his back hurt and he was so goddamn sick of Hannibal Lecter that he thought his head might be about to explode.

His day had been spent in the MCAC, watching Lecter play with the FBI shrinks, like a cat among the pigeons. Vale had returned to the Hoover building, to pick up the last month's meagre paycheck; fully intending to head home and get some sleep. However, whilst picked up his paycheck, Vale had been accosted by a young woman as he stepped towards the elevator.

It was the new girl – Sullivan if he remembered correctly – searching for Starling.

"I have some tasks she wanted me to run." The young woman had informed him. "She was supposed to come 'round and collect them at five, but she didn't show. Agent Starling specifically asked that these be handed only to her. They're on the Mendez case."

Vale's interest piqued.

"It's no problem, Miss Sullivan. I'm on the Mendez case too. Starling's my partner so we share all our intel. I'll make sure she gets this and it stays within the case team."

Showing slight reluctance, the girl had handed over the folder.

"All right, then, sir. Goodnight t' ya."

"Thanks."

Vale turned and headed away from the elevator, down the hall towards his and Starling's small office. Entering, he walked to the desk and flicked the lamp on, before letting himself heavily down into the plusher of the two seats; the one usually reserved by Starling. The manila envelope in his hands taunted him with its crisp, un-read freshness. Vale frowned to himself. It felt wrong to open her addressed confidential files but, as he reminded himself, they were on the same team. Surely Starling wouldn't mind.

Curiosity overcoming hesitance, Vale had pulled the folder towards him.

.

Vale had been just about to leave for a second time, when he spotted Starling making her way up. Starling, busy digging in her bag, had not seen him. She passed him as he walked slowly on, and Vale made a split-second decision to follow her.

Starling rode the elevators to the second floor. Vale, taking the stairs at a run, arrived just in time to see her disappear around the corner, down towards their shared office. From the corner of the corridor, he watched her move around inside for a bit and then make her way to Sullivan's, desk. Vale watched while they talked, his brow softly furrowed.

Sullivan took the appropriate amount of time to find the folder. He had told her earlier that he had made a mistake, told her that Starling had been running a personal search and he felt a bit embarrassed to tell her that he'd seen it. He had asked that Sullivan not tell Starling he'd looked at the files. Sullivan had agreed. Being another subordinate agent, she had readily identified with his sob story.

A minute or so later, Starling had turned from the desk, folder in hand. Vale, still out of sight, followed her back to the elevators. She noticeably dodged the few persons who would have stopped to talk with her. Clearly, Starling was in a hurry. Vale doubted that it was to get home in time to watch Pop Idol with Ardelia. Vale took the stairs down as she took the elevator. He arrived just in time to call out to Starling, as she made her way across the lobby.

"Starling?"

Starling's head jerked slightly, but she did not slow in her steps.

"Starling, wait up!"

She pretended not to hear him, stepping into the car park elevators and reaching for the button. However, Vale had other plans. He quickened his pace, sliding the last few feet into the elevator, between closing doors.

"Phew! Close one." He flashed her a smile. "So, what's up with you, Agent? Didn't ya hear me, or are you jus' still sore over me whippin' you on the range?"

Starling raised an eyebrow.

"Ok, point one; you did NOT whip me."

"What d'ya call those fifty points then?"

The elevator bleeped, and the doors shut. No one had got into the elevator beside them. Vale was grateful. He needed to talk to Starling alone.

"Luck. Now, onto point two; what'ya doin' here so late?"

Playing it carefully was overrated. Starling could probably see a mind-game coming a mile off. He was going to be straight with her.

"Checkin' up on you."

Starling looked over and, if Vale was not mistaken, a faint rush of worry flitted across her eyes.

"Checking up on what, per se?"

He shrugged.

"I was in the department, gettin' that new girl, to run some searches for me."

Starling looked non-plussed. Beginning to wonder if what he had discovered was, in fact, completely innocent, Vale pushed on.

"I saw you were running employment records on Mendez."

"Yeah?"

"I wondered why."

"I was just being thorough. God, are you always this nosy - or just where I'm concerned? Has Mapp got you running surveillance on me, or something?"

"Nope, I just don't get why you're taking such an interest in this case." Vale shrugged. "I mean…" he paused. "Is there something going on that I don't' know about?"

Starling's eyebrows rose.

"What ya trying to suggest?" She snorted with forced bravado. "That I'm withholding information in a Federal investigation?"

"No, of course not."

The way she had deflected the conversation had reaffirmed his suspicions. The files she had been picking up from Sullivan pertained to something she wanted to keep to herself. She was trying to pass it off as innocent – and, from the first viewing of the files, Vale could not see anything underhand – but something felt wrong. Something about her interest in the Mendez case felt wrong…

_The case is closed a__nd you're still digging, Starling... what's the deal? Do you think we've put the wrong man in prison?_

"I was just being thorough." Starling reiterated.

So thorough that you've run deep background checks, dug out medical and employment records, birth certificates and all of his family's related data from the Mexican government?

Maybe she did think they'd put the wrong man in prison. Vale remembered that early on in Mendez's trials, Starling had vehemently expressed her opinion that Mendez was innocent. But Mendez had been steamrolled through to trial as fast as the bureaucrats could pull their strings. No one had listened. And by the time Mendez was sentenced to death and placed on the supermax block, Starling seemed to have given up.

What had happened to change her mind, Vale wondered. What had she found out? What was the secret hidden in the weeks' of searches and data that Vale had read in that manila folder? He hadn't been able to join the dots quite yet, but, from the way Starling's eyes kept darting defensively between his, she had and she did not want him to know.

This only intensified his interest.

"Listen, Vale, I've got to run." She eventually spoke out, breaking the silence.

"Where you off to? Bit late for the gym." Vale joked, pulling on an innocent smile to break the tension. He didn't want her to think that he suspected her. Starling was a good Agent and he had begun to consider her a friend. The situation was awkward enough already.

She shot him a glance, however, which told him she was in no mood for light-heartedness.

"I've got a meeting with Mendez tonight. I'm serving him his appeal papers."

Another kick in the ass.

"I thought we were doing that tomorrow, together." Vale held back the bitterness he felt at her sudden disinterest in his help. The Mendez case might be closed, and he and Starling might have been relegated to other, more low-key assignments, but they were still partners. And he had been under the illusion that partners shared responsibilities... and information.

"I didn't think you'd mind missing it, and I realised that I had a doctor's appointment tomorrow, so I changed the date." Starling looked down at her watch again.

Vale's eyes flickered down to Starling's belly. You could see its outline in her frame, now – even through the baggy blouses and loosely tailored suits she wore. There was something different in her walk. The press would be on her soon, like a pack of hounds on the scent. Mapp had already fielded on uncomfortable question about it from one of the directors last week.

"Want me to come along?" Realising his words could have been misread, Vale corrected himself hastily, cheeks flushing a little. "To Mendez's meeting, not the appointment, that is."

"No, no. I'll be fine. You've probably got plans anyway. I know not everyone works all night like I do."

"Well if you fancy the company," Vale shrugged. "I don't got plans."

"Well I've got some other stuff to do beforehand."

Deflection.

"Anyway, it's in and out - barely there, really. I won't be more than ten minutes inside." Starling continued.

" Well if you have other stuff to do, I could run the papers up to-."

"I'm actually capable of serving a damn paper, Vale!"

There was silence in the elevator. The words had stung, even though the way the conversation was going should have prepared him for it. In time to the resounding awkwardness of the moment, the elevator doors 'ping'ed open, to reveal the almost deserted car lot.

"I've gotta go." A short, terse statement. Then, perhaps, realising the harshness of her words, Starling reneged slightly. "I'm sorry, Vale" she cushioned the blow with a sigh and a false explanation. "It's just, with everything going on... I need to be alone for a while."

"I understand." He said, though he didn't really.

He did not understand why she was pushing him away, any more than he understood why she was so interested in Mendez's past – or in his family – or in some company who made magnetic barcode strips whose telephone number had been scribbled down on a slip of paper inside the top drawer of her desk. He did not understand any of it, at all. But he pulled on a reassuring smile and nodded to her anyway.

"See you tomorrow if you're still on for lunch" Starling's voice was softer now, perhaps trying to atone for her earlier behaviour.

"Yeah. Twelve-thirty, at Tino's?"

If she was going off the rails, keeping her close was a good idea. An obsession with the Mendez case would only land his partner in trouble. Vale wondered if it was the pregnancy which was making her act this way. He had heard on some TV show that women did strange things when they were expecting. Hormones, he guessed.

"See you then."

Vale lingered in the elevator beside her for a moment longer and then headed off towards his car. As he walked, he waved a hand to bid Starling goodbye. She responded in kind, the first real smile she had shown in days twitching her lips. Vale slipped into the driver's seat and sat a moment, watching her go, under the pretence of fiddling with his radio. His partner walked to her car and got in, manila file still clutched in her hand. She drove from the lot – the Mustang's engine leaving a dusty boom in the air. Vale frowned as he started his own engine (a rather less impressive sound than Starling's spine-tingling souped-up Mustang), and started to move forth from the lot.

What Clarice Starling was up to, he had no idea, but he fully intended to find out.


	36. Chapter 36

_Chapter 36 – Victor_

_._

Mendez woke to the sound of size-eleven brogues, slamming into the concrete floor. He screwed his forehead. He hadn't drank since breakfast – his head hurt and his throat was dry. The shoes were coming from the west end of the block. Not dinner then. Mendez coughed, roughly, rubbing his face with sleep-clumsy hands.

"All right,"

It was the fat guard. Mendez knew their voices pretty well by now.

"Number 304, Mendez, Get y'r ass up!"

He rolled over, knowing only too well what would happen to him if he refused. His knees cracked ominously as he stood, stretching out tired muscles and stiff joints. Not quite awake, Mendez felt a little confused. What time was it? He had fallen asleep some time after breakfast, but had woken for lunch. There had been a lot of noise earlier, but he had pushed back into the warmth of sleep and ignored it.

Mendez rubbed his eyes again and tried to gather his bearings. Surely it was before two... But, then, the light coming through the window was low and orange. The sun set early up here, in the North, but not that early. Had he slept right into the afternoon?

He spent most of his days asleep now – fourteen, sixteen hours at a time. Neither prison meals, nor listening to the other inmates enjoying their hours' exercise time, held any interest for him. All he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, to dream of better days and familiar places; balmy evenings and the cool of sheets against his and his lovers' skin.

"C'mon!"

The door's well-oiled bolt slammed open, its metal bars reverberating with the impact. His minder seemed annoyed and he wasn't the gentlest at the best of times. Mendez stood still and compliant.

"Visitor," the fat guard grunted. "We're taking you down to interview."

"Who?" His throat was so dry from sleep that it came out as a croak.

"Agent Starling. Get moving."

Mendez's chest tightened, dislike bubbling up from where it had been fermenting, within. There was something about Agent Starling that he just did not trust – and it was not, simply, a distrust of the FBI, who had wrongly incarcerated him here. There had always been something about Starling that Mendez had found unnerving. She seemed to be holding something back. Her entire being was always held taut, as if she were waiting to strike. Like a cat, Mendez thought. Like one of the strays that used to hang around his neighbourhood when he was a kid. They skulked in the shadows, waiting to seize opportunities he had not even seen yet. Cats with sharpened claws and hungry eyes; those with kittens were especially dangerous. Mendez had been scratched more than once, for getting too near.

He was still unsure what Starling wanted from him. At first, her involvement in his conviction had been minimal. Mendez knew that she had been partnered with Agent Benedict Vale as a favour – the agents had joked about it in his presence. The first time he had seen Starling, she had been running papers to Vale from headquarters – more of a glorified secretary than an FBI agent. She must have resented that, after her earlier career. (Mendez had taken the time to investigate Starling's previous adventures with the Feds and knew she was far from unqualified).

When she had first interviewed him, she had voiced the possibility that he was innocent. Mendez had overheard the two Agents talking in the side room, as he was led away in shackles. His heart had leapt with hope. But then she had changed her tune. Almost overnight, she became his most fervent opposition. She provided mounds evidence for the prosecution, even taking the stand on several occasions to testify for the profile.

He knew her story, of course. (There was little to do in the supermax wing but talk, and his neighbours' favourite topics were each other's sadistic crimes). He knew that Starling was a rape victim. It had been all over the papers, dragged about in all its sordid detail. He knew she was a victim, in fact, of the strange and silent man who was lodged a few cell doors down. Hannibal "the cannibal" Lecter.

Mendez had little knowledge of Lecter's previous capture and escape. He had been a teenager in Mexico at the time. American current events had interested him little – besides baseball, which he and his cousins had watched avidly on their neighbour's cable TV. Since his incarceration, however, Mendez had learned all about the cannibal. The guards and his fellow prisoners were only too happy to fill the hours with gossip and speculation, as well as the occasional fact. For the past few days – with all his psychological evaluations going on – the main topic of conversation had been the good Doctor.

Despite his innate distrust of Starling, Mendez was still capable of pity for the woman. She had suffered a lot, during her life; most of it because of one man's sick obsession. No one, in Mendez's opinion, should have to go through what Clarice Starling had. Abducted, held hostage, raped, psychologically tortured and released, only to find herself pregnant with the monsters child. (Mendez wondered whether the papers knew yet... he had only found out earlier that evening. The coloured woman – an Agent also – had shouted it at Lecter, during their heated discussion through the bars). Still, he did not relish another meeting with her.

He thought he had seen the last of the FBI. He was convicted and sentenced. What more did they want of him?

Mendez shifted uncomfortably. The door of his cell was ready to open. The fat guard stepped forwards, motioning for him to turn around and place his hands through the bars. A second guard was loitering just behind him. Mendez found it amusing that there were two guards sent to control him. He had to be a foot shorter and half their girth, with had no experience of combat. Turning, he slid his hands through the bars, side by side.

"Hurry up boy."

Mendez took a step backwards and winced as they cuffed him, a little too enthusiastically. He hated when they called him 'boy'.

"Take him down. I'll follow on with MACE."

Completely unnecessary, thought Mendez. He wasn't dumb enough to try escape.

Apart from the dozens of armed security guards in the complex, Mendez knew that all the doors were remote controlled by keycards and codes. Even if, by some miracle, he was able to take on the two guards, the computer system would lock him down, far before he made it to any exit. In a previous life – before incarceration and the USA, before Feds and Senator Woodley – Mendez had worked for a security company as a computer programmer. He designed systems just like these. He designed them to be impenetrable.

There was no way out of the MCAC alive.

The fat guard led him, with the younger man following. As the older guard yanked him unceremoniously through the doorframe, Roe looked slightly apologetic. Out of the two of them, Mendez preferred to be handled by Roe. There was less hatred in him, less ingrained superiority. He supposed those things must come with time. Give him a couple years, thought Mendez.

Starling was waiting for him in the interrogation room, poring over papers. She didn't look up when he was brought in. The guard cuffed his shackles to a steel ring on the opposite side of the table and shackled his feet in place. The familiar weight of metal holding him down, Mendez relinquished control and let his seat be shoved in. It hurt, but he knew better than to complain.

"Evening, ma'am," the younger guard, Roe, greeted her. "Need any company?"

The Agent looked up and gave him a quick smile – Mendez noticed it didn't reach her eyes.

"No thanks, Jason. I'll be jus' fine. If you could possibly close the door on y'r way out? What we've gotta talk about is supposed to confidential and all that." She rolled her eyes. "Legal shit."

Mendez wondered briefly if he should ask to have a lawyer present, then decided against it. Best not to antagonise anyone. A lawyer meant a wait and a wait meant pissed-off guards. Pissed-off guards meant no meals and rough handling. Besides, Mendez was already down for the death penalty _sin recurso._No appeal, no quarter, no mercy. He was getting the needle. In three months, or so, he would be injected with a 250mg of sodium thiopental and his life would belong to the Maryland penitentiary system. No amount of lawyers could help him now.

His Gabriella would be ashamed of him to give up so easily, but Mendez was tired. He was done fighting. Against men such as Senator Kade Woodley, he never stood a chance anyway.

The guards left the room while the Agent continued to shuffle papers. She didn't look up at Mendez, even after the door slammed close. Every few seconds, he noticed, she would glance over towards the camera, in the top left corner of the room, then down again.

"So, what do you want for me?"

Not quite the right words. English had always been a second language to Mendez.

Starling did not notice, nor did she reply.

He tried again.

"A signed confession? Perhaps I'll confess to some of your other open cases, senorita... is that good?"

There was no reason to be nice anymore. Starling thought him a rapist and a murderer – the world thought him a rapist and a murderer – why behave any differently? He had no reputation left to protect.

"Please give me two seconds, sir. I'll be with you shortly." Starling glanced up again, at the camera, then down to her papers. Flipping one over, she signed her name on the last line. Clipping them between two plastic sheets (no paper clips, no staples), she laid them down on the table between and checked her watch.

She seemed so cold, so detached. Perhaps, Mendez thought, he had read her wrong at their first interview. Perhaps, he had imagined her petitioning his innocence. Perhaps it was all the last, vain hope of a desperate man. The woman sitting before him now didn't seem to care about finding the truth. She wasn't even bothering to speak to him.

Starling glanced up again, at the camera. Irked by her interest in it, rather than him, Mendez followed her gaze. The small red light on the side blinked... blinked again... then remained off. He turned his head slowly back around.

"So this is '_that'_ kind of interview, then?"

His tone was bitter. He knew the drill. When the police turned off the cameras and mikes, noses were broken and deals were brokered. As Starling was a woman, he suspected it was the latter. The Agent turned her attention, at last, to him.

"This, Mr Mendez, is an entirely different kind of interview from any you have ever had. And I'd listen carefully, to what I'm 'bout to propose. It might work out to your advantage."

Mendez snorted.

"You want a confession? Why? You don't need it. Your judge has already looked to me and told me I am guilty. They call me a dead man walking, Agent Starling. What more can you possibly want to do to me?"

"I don't want to do anything you, Mendez. What I'm proposing isn't a deal for a conviction. This is off the books."

"So you want me to tell you some things about my crimes, that makes you look good, and me look extra guilty? You're offering me something back – extra meals, bedding, something like that. That's why you turn the camera off, right?" Mendez folded his hands angrily. "Well I am sorry, senorita. I am not going to play your game."

"I turned the camera off," Starling spoke softly, but with authority, "because what I am about to say to you is treason."

Mendez blinked. He almost expected five other agents to jump out from hiding places around the room and shout 'surprise'! But none came.

Starling continued, her voice serious.

"I turned the camera off because I value my life and wish to keep my freedom."

Mendez felt his face shift is confusion. He didn't understand. Did she have evidence, in Gabriella's case, that she wasn't supposed to tell him? Did she know who killed her? And what was so terrible in this truth, that it could condemn her life imprisonment?

"I don't understand." He stammered.

Starling swallowed and, for a moment, her cool exterior faded away. It revealed eyes filled with worry. Whatever she was about to tell him held great importance; not just for him, but for her. She was not here simply for justice. This was personal.

"Listen, I don't have much time to fully explain the situation, but I'll do my best. You're going to have to trust me a little."

Mendez, who didn't quite feel he should 'have' to do anything yet, watched her silently.

Starling glanced over at the clock.

"Okay, in about a minute's time, one of the guards in the viewing booth, with have to relieve the guard up on the block, for break. At that time, I will pass you these final appeal papers across the table. Hidden between the last two pages is a small magnetic strip. I need you to slide it free and hide it in the hem of your sleeve, without them seeing. Do you understand?"

Mendez stared, blankly.

"Do you understand?" Starling repeated, her voice hard.

Confused, Mendez nodded. He could scarcely manage anything else. The whole situation was surreal. What was she passing him? And why? Was it evidence, perhaps?

Starling began to shuffle the papers, pointing at different lines and looking up at him each time.

"Just try an' look like we're talking about these, okay?"

"What are they?"

"Appeal papers. The Judge'll dismiss them without a second glance – he used to golf with Senator Woodley's daddy – but they're a perfect cover for this conversation."

"And what is the conversation? How do you get the cameras to turn off?"

"I asked the guards a favour, so I could do this."

Without warning or preamble, Starling reached across the table and slapped Mendez hard across one cheek. It caught him so much by surprise that he cried out in shock. His muscles had been relaxed, so the impact had sent his jaw far to the side. Mendez ducked his head to his hands, cradling his mouth. It stung. Starling had quite an arm on her, for a petite woman.

"Sorry 'bout that. It was my excuse to be in here, alone, with the cameras and mikes off. I told them I had personal investment in this case and that I'd been dying to do that for weeks... I had to make it look realistic."

"Y' did." Mendez mumbled, through the saliva that was accumulating in his mouth as a response to the injury.

"Sorry." She said again, sounding distinctly non-sorry, in Mendez's opinion. "Had to be done."

Flipping open the paper, she grabbed a pen from inside her pocket and circled two of the lines.

"Keep looking at the paper."

Mendez complied. The blood was rushing to his head and making his jaw throb. The urge to look over at the mirrored glass was almost overpowering, but he forced his eyes to stay on the paper.

"Do you find who really killed Gabriella?" he asked, eyes never leaving the tip of Starling's pen.

"I've got evidence, but at the moment it's circumstantial. Alone, it won't stand up in court or prove your innocence. Ironically," she sighed, "the only way of doing that is to get you out of here."

"But you said the judge won't listen to this appeal paper."

Starling looked exasperated.

"Mr Mendez, I don't have the faintest intention of appealing for your case."

"Then..."

"Here's the deal, Mendez. In three weeks, a situation is going to present itself. Now this situation is gonna happen, with or without you, but it'll go a lot smoother – and work out better for you – if you comply."

"Comply how?"

"I'll explain while you're signing." Starling made a show of removing the cap from the pen, before throwing it down on front of Mendez. Folding her arms, she surreptitiously checked her watch. "The guards are changing in about ten seconds."

Mendez wondered how Starling's charade was playing out, from the other side of the mirrored glass. He hoped it looked convincing, but was sure no one had ever looked this confused over signing appeal papers before.

"Okay," Starling placed her hand on the paper, and slowly pushed it across the table. "Take these from me, and flip the page over. Use it as cover to take the strip."

"Now?"

"Do it."

"What does the strip do?"

"Later." Starling hissed.

Mendez took the papers, and played them through his fingers. He didn't have to feign confusion, at all the lines and footnotes. He was confused. He was confused, shocked, and exhilarated. His heart hadn't beaten this fast in weeks. In fact, his heart hadn't even beaten this fast when he had been sentenced to death. At the chance to bring Gabriella's true killer to justice and acquit himself of the heinous crimes set against his name, something had sparked back to life inside of Mendez.

The magnetic strip – a plastic feeling thing, no bigger than that on a credit card – was obvious between the last two sheets. He slipped it out easily and deftly dropped it down his wrist, into the hollow of his sleeve. It was more difficult than he had imagined. The shackles constricted the sleeve, and it took quite a bit of manoeuvring to get it fully inside.

"Scratch your arm."

"What?"

"To disguise the movement... just do it." Starling hissed.

He did.

"Now point at the page, pretend to ask me something."

Mendez pointed at the line on the paper.

"Agent Starling, senorita?"

"Yes?"

"What sort of situation is going to... present itself?"

"The sort which finds you standing on the outside of these walls, rather than on the inside."

Mendez couldn't help the surprise from showing on his face.

"Is this, what do you call it..? Am I being set up?" Was the FBI trying to see if they could add attempted escape to his list of inditements?

"No," Starling shook her head. "This isn't a set up."

Mendez met her eyes.

"I put the cameras off, remember?" Starling swallowed, visibly. "That's illegal. I'm as culpable as you are, from here on in. ...Possibly more so." She added, quietly.

Her face was worried. A crease had formed across her forehead.

"I don't get this," Mendez sighed, shaking his head. "Why do you help me?"

No FBI agent was this hell-bent on justice. Appeals, help in court, testimony, yes... but not breaking a man out of a federal prison. Agent Starling was risking life in jail – or worse. This was treason.

"Why do you help me?" he asked again.

She looked hard at him, before replying.

"Because I made a promise to someone and I intend to keep it."

He started to ask who, but Starling just shook her head. The agent looked down to the appeal papers that Mendez was still holding.

"Sign."

"Are they real?"

"Yes."

"Do the guards, do they know?"

"Don't look at the glass!" Starling snapped.

Mendez turned his head back to the paper.

"No, they don't know." Starling spoke quietly. "I'm working alone."

Mendez scribbled his name on the lines, trying hard to keep his handwriting legible, despite the adrenaline surging through his system.

"How did you know I was not guilty?"

"It just didn't sit right. Your interview didn't match your profile. I thought your story deserved a second look." Starling glanced up at the clock. "So, I checked your family history and found some things that didn't match up."

"Que?"

"Your English, while good, is stilted. But, your file says you have lived in California since you were eight..."

Mendez smiled wryly, at his hands.

"None of the other agents seem to notice – thought I was just another wetback who never bothered to learn _de Inglés_."

"My first real clue was your supposed driving license photo. You do look a lot like your cousin, but he has two moles on his left cheek that you don't. It was a close thing, I nearly missed it. I checked with medical records. There was nothing about a mole being removed."

"Ok, so how do you know who I am for real?"

"In cases of identity fraud, we always check family first. Ianto Mendez has only one male relative close enough in age and appearance to use his passport. I did some research and it turned out that this cousin grew up in the same small town that Gabriella Woodley grew up in." Starling fixed him with an intense stare. "The FBI can request all sorts of things – including old high school yearbooks. I did some digging, called a few alumni, and learned that one Victor Mendez dated Gabriella Woodley, during high school."

"The plot gets thicker."

"Indeed, it does..."

Starling was watching him raptly, and Mendez felt the urge to explain.

"She left to find work, to California, USA." he said softly. "I had nothing to keep us alive on. No money, no job. We lost each other, over the distance. Many years later, she came back for the funeral of her mother. She was a wife of a rich senator, but still we fell in love, all over again."

"And you followed her to her home, in a different country; risking imprisonment by using your cousin's identity and visa. You gave up your reasonably well-paid job as a computer programmer, for that of a gardener, just to be near her. Now, that's either obsession, or love..." Starling breathed out deeply. "Not that I'm entirely sure those two are mutually exclusive."

"I would never hurt her, Senorita Starling, she was my girl."

A pause.

"Listen," Starling leaned against the table, face intent. "Once you're out of this place and we can talk freely, I will show you everything I've found and how it connects to the death of Gabriella Woodley."

"You know who killed her?" his voice was desperate, but he had to know.

Starling nodded.

"I think so. And, with your help, I think we can find proof."

His heart leapt.

"Then you need to get me out of here. This can't wait – we need to find them!"

Starling watched him for a moment, human enough to feel guilt at what she was about to say.

"I'm afraid you have to do something for me, first."

"…What?" Mendez felt his hopes sink slightly.

"What?" he repeated. "You put me in here, even though you know I am innocent, and then you hold me ransom? This is some sort of game?"

"No!" Starling spat, looking affronted. "I was never going to be able to free you out through the courts. Woodley's lawyers would have ripped us both to shreds." The Agent folded her arms. "But, while I was trying to get information for your defence, I learned a bit about your background in computer programming. I realised I could use your incarceration to our mutual advantage."

Mendez felt his frustration boiling over. Was she on his side or not? What was her agenda?

"What you mean by this _mutual_ advantage?"

"I give you the tools to get out and you do one small thing for me."

Starling's eyes as hard and cold as ice chips. Mendez looked back and forth, then gave a tentative nod. If he had a chance to get free and bring Gabriella's killer to justice, then he would seize it - whatever he had to do.

"What I've given you is a magnetic strip," Starling explained. "This strip can be placed over the contact points on your cell door so that, even if your door is thrown manually, it still registers as 'closed' on the system's electronic alarm system. Now, in five minutes, when you are returned to your cage, I am going to slip you a keycard which will allow you to open that cell door manually. _But_... you've got to resist the temptation to use either."

Mendez became aware that he was sitting with his jaw hanging open. He closed it and tried to look less suspicious.

"Not yet, anyway." Starling continued. "To pull this off, we need a precise set of conditions."

"When?"

"In three weeks' time, on December the twenty-third. I've looked over personnel details and manifests and the twenty-third is when there are fewest guards per prisoners. Plus, scramble-time for the SWAT team will be slowed by the Christmas traffic."

Mendez exhaled deeply. The thought of escape was making him dizzy with anticipation.

"But here's our problem..." Starling fixed him in her gaze, pulling him back to reality. "You may have the skills to handle the security system, but you won't be able to get out of here alone. However, I can't be the one to help you. If I'm going to help find the rest of the evidence and exonerate you from the murder of Gabriella Woodley, I can't be implicated in your escape. There can't even be a shadow of a doubt. "

She unfolded her arms and leant on the table.

"I've planned a route for your escape, from the prison blueprints, but I don't have time to tell you them in detail. I'd need thirty minutes to do that. So…" Starling sighed heavily, "we're going to need help."

"Help?"

A double knock on the doorframe prompted Starling to check her watch again.

"Okay, Mendez, that knock is Roe telling me that I have five minutes left. Are you with me so far?"

"You have a strip and a card – with I will break out. But I need help…" Mendez shook his head. He had never been so confused in his life. "I thought you worked alone. Who will help?"

"Mr Mendez," Starling met his gaze earnestly. "I'm gonna have to ask you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Mendez paused, and then forced a nod.

"Okay, Agent Starling."

The silence lasted almost ten seconds. Starling appeared to be holding her breath. Then, at long last, she spoke.

"I need you to listen very carefully, because what you remember from these next few minutes will determine whether you ever wake up a free man again. If you follow the plan I am about to describe to you, there's a good chance that both of you will get out alive."

The sinking feeling in Mendez' stomach grew a little bit stronger.

"What do you mean... _both_ of us?"

.


	37. Chapter 37

_Chapter 37 – Plausible Deniability_

_._

It was easy, so easy. Surely, it should have been more difficult, to commit treason?

Starling exited the interrogation booth and let the guards lead Mendez away. Adhering to her rules, he did not look back, or speak to her. She saw him cradling his jaw, more than was necessary, with the arm which held the magnetic strip in its sleeve. Hoping the guards did not get too rough with him, she made her way towards the elevator. She would wait ten minutes, until Mendez was back in his cell.

Making her way to the visitor's room, on the second floor, Starling located a vending machine. Pressing two quarters into the slot, she punched in the numbers for a coke and listened for the tell tale _bump_ against the side of the machine. Her drink dropped into the tray. Starling removed the coke, popped it open and took a tentative sip.

Watching the clock on the far wall, she sipped and waited.

.

Ten minutes later, she was hurrying back up the stairs, toward the supermax block.

"Hey, Roe!"

She waved at Jason Roe on the other side of the glass. He was seated in the guard's booth, settling down for the night with a comic – which he quickly hid at her approach.

"Starling? What you doing back here?"

"I forgot to leave one of the sheets – Mendez's copy of the final appeal. I swear, I'm losing it, some days." She laughed, light-heartedly. "Is it ok if I run them down now?"

Roe loitered, unsure. The other guard stood up and made his way over to the window.

"What's going on?"

"She needs to give Mendez papers."

"Don't they go to 'is lawyer, ma'am?"

"Usually, yeah, but this one refused his lawyer, back in the interview room." Starling panted, realistically out of breath, from her assent of the staircase. "Listen, I'm real sorry. I'd normally just give them to you guys, to hand over. I mean, I trust you, but rules are rules... ya know how it is?"

Roe looked to his companion.

"Fine." The older guard grunted. "Let her in. Pat her down."

"They did me before the interview. I just need to run it down. Here," she un-looped her bag from her shoulder and proffered it to the fat guard. Roe let her in, flashing his ID card across the keypad. "Take my bag. I've only got the papers. Won't be a second!"

They let her through.

So easy… it was so easy, thought Starling. Surely this should be harder?

"I'll walk you down." Roe offered.

Her heart sounded like a frantic drummer's beat.

"Sorry, it's gotta be just me and Mendez for the hand over. Legal shit." She used the explanation, for the second time that night. And, for the second time, it worked without a hitch. There was a reason that Jason Roe had become a security guard.

Starling knew she was banking on a whole lot of cards playing out in her favour, but her plan had worked so far. Okay, luck, she whispered to herself, just hold out for ten more minutes. She began to walk down the hall.

Where, usually, she was so observant, Starling's eyes now failed her. She hardly noticed the details of her surroundings. The walls were of indiscriminate colour; the floor a blank canvas for her footsteps. Her legs were carrying her to either her triumph or demise. Which was it to be? Starling did not know and her heart thundered at both prospects.

Halfway down the hall sat two cages, which held two very vital pieces of the puzzle. Hannibal Lecter sat in one. From her position, she could not yet see him, but she knew that he would be waiting for her – he had always known her footsteps. Newly reinstalled in the other cage, was Mendez. Mendez, Starling could see. And what she saw, written all across his face, was fear. She cursed that her plan – and her lover's freedom – relied so heavily upon an outside source, a person who she could not control. But that was the way it had to be.

Starling took another step, another step closer to the culmination of the past few months' events. Her back strained slightly. The child inside her was growing fast and her body was struggling to accommodate. Her spine ached by the end of each day. Starling hoped she would be able to hide her condition from Lecter. She would keep her secret for as long as possible – to minimise his pain.

Another step, walking quickly. She was now on front of Mendez's cell. From this position, Starling was acutely aware that she would be able to see into Lecter's cell. Should she turn her head to the left, she might be able to look directly at him. But she forced herself not to turn. The illusion of ignorance must be maintained. When the prison guards question her about to what happened here, she must be able to claim that she had no idea Lecter was being kept here. Plausible deniability.

Of course, in due course, the nature of her hand in Lecter's escape would become common knowledge. By then, however – Starling thought with a smile – they could be on the other side of the world. Just she and her lover... well, almost. Sometimes Starling had to remind herself that they would not be alone – just them two – for much longer.

Clarice Starling took another step towards Mendez. As long as she kept her cool her today, as long as she gave Mendez the keycard and made sure that no one saw, the escape would be possible. She just had to make it look like an accident. Give Mendez the real card and slip Security guard, Jason Roe, the fake. Slipping him the magnetic strip, earlier, had gone well. There was no reason that this should not go just as well.

To anyone who knew the truth – from an objective position, watching on high – the whole situation seemed ludicrously obvious. Wasn't Starling involved with both cases? Didn't she visit both prisoners, just weeks before their escape? To anyone who knew the truth, Starling would have appeared as guilty as hell. But the security guards did _not_ know the truth.

Nobody did. Mapp, Vale, the FBI; all they saw was what they wanted to see. They saw what everyone saw when they looked at Lecter; a monster. They saw what everyone saw when they looked at Starling; a victim. And, for the first time, Starling was glad of it. The media - who had followed, knife to her back, throughout her whole career - would now turn her protector.

Click, click, click; the sound of Starling's heels on the cold prison floor. She was wearing good shoes this time.

Another step closer. Mendez was standing, rubbing his wrists, where his shackles had been. His forehead was wet with worry. Starling was glad that none of the guards were paying much attention to him. He looked so goddamn guilty. Sweet irony, thought Starling, as she approached the cell. He was the only innocent man in here.

"I've got your papers, Mendez. You've already signed. These are your copies."

He nodded, mutely. Perhaps, not trusting himself to talk aloud.

"Now, you're sure 'bout this? I'll repeat, for purposes of the tape."

And, indeed, she came bearing a recording device – wire and all. She had turned them on after the interrogation room. If this incident was ever brought up in a court of law, she could submit it for evidence, on her behalf. All anyone would hear was an FBI Agent serving some papers and getting temporarily distracted by a previous... associate. Nothing illegal.

"The FBI advised you against this action." Starling continued, her voice a purposefully bored drawl. "We recommend you let us give these papers to your attorney."

"No, Agent Starling, senorita. I'll take them, please."

"Suit yourself."

She moved to the drop box and made to drop the papers inside. Then, just as she was about to let go, Starling 'accidentally' dropped her pen.

"Oh shoot."

The moment seemed to hover, in slow motion. All Starling could focus on was the pen.

It was one of the cheap pens that the FBI provided in their, usually sparse, stationary cupboards. Clear plastic, with lines up the sides; blue, Starling was pretty sure of it, and with no lid. She had left the lid of purposefully, so that it would roll better. She needed it to roll right across the hall, so that she could follow it. She needed an excuse to cross from cell 304 to 207.

The pen did not disappoint. Jettisoned from Starling's hand, it fairly flew across the wide prison corridor, passing over the red line that ran down the middle, and landing well to the left. It skidded for a few feet, before coming to a halt, mere centimetres from Lecter's cage. There, it spun slowly on the spot.

Starling swore aloud again, and made a show of scrambling after the pen. She took great care not to look up until she reached the bars – after all, she was not to know whose cell this was. Someone called from the other end of the hall – she was pretty sure it was Jason Roe – to check that she was ok, and she yelled back to the affirmative.

"Yeah, jus' fine. Lost my damn pen."

The inmates down the hall, riled by the sudden movement, began the jibes and catcalls. Starling knew that their evening meal would have been postponed until her meeting with Mendez was finished. They were hungry and on edge. She would have to be careful. If they got too rowdy, the guards might see it fit to remove her from the block before her business here was attended to.

Starling, crouched uncomfortably over her pregnant abdomen, reached out for her pen. As her fingers closed around it, Starling tilted her face upwards, readying herself to show fake surprise. As it turned out, she didn't have to fake it.

"Christ!"

Starling gave a start and nearly whimpered aloud. Lecter was standing, no more than six inches away, leaning into the net that held him back from the bars. And his eyes were darker than she had seen them in years.

"Good evening, Clarice."

Soft, grating voice – all too familiar. It brought back some of the same emotions she had experienced during their first meeting in Baltimore, and some new ones. Starling scrambled upward, abandoning the pen.

"Doctor."

She barely managed to get his title out. It would all sound very convincing on the tape. She wasn't even having to act.

Now that she was looking at the cell front-on, Starling could see that, apart from Lecter, it was completely empty. All the standard-issue prison furniture had been removed. He had no mattress, no bed frame, no desk, and no chair. The legal documentation which he had been allowed to keep was also gone. No seat was fastened to the small metal toilet on the left hand wall, and the stainless steel mirror had been unscrewed from the concrete. Even his shoes had been taken. Apart from the net holding him back from the bars, Lecter was completely alone in the small room. He had never looked more like a caged animal.

Eyes feral, he tilted his head.

"Come a'visiting, Agent Starling?"

So cold. His voice was so cold towards her. She wasn't expecting a warm welcome, but the latent ager in him surprised her. He had shown no regret for his actions up until now. What had spurred this change of attitude? Or was it simply an act? She wished she could tell.

"I'm serving… papers." She swallowed audibly. "W-what happened to your things?"

"Confiscated" It was more a hiss than a word.

His eyes lowered to her abdomen, searching out the swell of her belly through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"You started to show very late. I admit, even I was fooled by your loose attire. I naively believed it was on FBI advice, to avoid... unwanted attention on my part. I do congratulate you, Clarice. When are you due?"

Act cold, Starling reminded herself.

"I don't think that's any of your business." She replied, voice clipped.

"There, our opinions differ."

And there is was; the crux of the matter.

_I'm so sorry, H_, Starling thought, to herself. _I would have told you. I wanted to tell you. But I jus' couldn't risk it._

She kept her mouth shut. This had to be believable, for the tape. Keep talking – keep talking! Starling pushed herself back into conversation.

"You're not in my life any more, Dr Lecter."

"No, Clarice... you are quite alone." The emotionless tone hurt more than all the sarcasm he could have mustered.

Starling swallowed, choking out a retort.

"Not as alone as you'd want me to be, Doctor. I've got people around me."

"Ah... the indomitable Mapp, and her lapdog. Tell me, Clarice, which one sits and holds your hand at night, to protect you from the bad dreams?"

A snippet from her past; her father had used to sit up with her, all night, to chase away the nightmares.

"I guess you wouldn't understand about that." Starling forced a dry smile. "You like to be alone, don't you, doctor?"

His eyes glittered like black diamond.

"Oh, I don't know... I quite enjoyed your company, from time to time."

Pure Virginia. Mocking. Taunting.

Starling had thought it would be difficult to initiate an argument, or start a commotion. In reality, it sort of happened, of its own volition. Anger rose within her – resentment she did not even know she was holding, bubbled to the surface. How dare he bring up her purported rape and make her into the victim? How dare he insinuate that she had maliciously kept her pregnancy a secret from him?

"Don't you say that!"

She hated being the victim. He knew that, more than anyone. Her youth had been spent as the victim. She had worked so hard, tried so hard, to escape it. Now a victim was all people saw when they looked at her. Abducted, raped, held captive; the pity in their eyes was sometimes more than she could take. And as for the pregnancy - she had no other choice but to keep it from him! It was the only way of ensuring he did not deviate from his plan. Though she did not think that hearing of her condition would change his mind, it was the only way of ensuring that he remained incarcerated here, in the supermax block of the MCAC – the only place where she could get him out. She would have never held the information back out of malice.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate all this?" she spat. The anger in her voice was real.

Lecter opened his mouth, but Starling pushed on.

"No, don't try and use any of your psychoanalytical bullshit on me, Doctor, don't you dare!"

Her voice rung down the hall. In the distance, she heard guards fumbling with keycards and guns – shouting, and making their way towards them. They had finally realised that she was in distress, and were hastening to her rescue.

Starling's heart rate elevated further. She would have to be calm to ensure her success now. And quick.

Rage being a passionate emotion, it dwindled almost as quickly as it had risen within Starling's breast. Her angers were valid enough, but she was wrong to bring them up now. Once he was free, they could discuss what had happened these past few months. For now, she had to be cool. She had to be in control. Starling stowed her emotions but kept the outward manifestations. Slipping something from her jacket pocket, she took a breath and stepped up to the bars. The metal was cold against her palm as she gripped it, wrapping her fingers tightly.

"You know what. I hope you rot in here. It's like you said, back in Milan... some birds are _meant_ to be caged."

Quicker than she could perceive it, Lecter had close the gap between them, thrusting one hand through the net to grasp hers against the bar. His grip was numbingly tight, and Starling instinctively gasped and recoiled in pain.

"What did you say, Clarice?"

The guards were almost upon them, shouting madly now, and brandishing weapons.

Lecter's eyes bored into hers, searching.

_It's like you said, back in Milan..._ his elegant mind had to pick up on what she meant, it had to! A conversation, held back in the early days of their relationship – masking a secret message. Come on, H, come on... give me some sign, thought Starling, allowing herself one moment to meet his gaze. Only a moment, and then she had to go.

The guards were so close that Starling could smell the old spice.

Just a moment, then;

"Let me go." She cried, pulling back.

With an almighty tug, Starling wrenched her hand free from under his. As her fingers slipped free, his tightened around the bar, and the token she had left there, flattened against the metal – a token to compound the meaning of her message. His eyes flickered from his hand to hers, then to the guards, as they descended like a pack of dogs. He withdrew his hand, taking what Starling had left into the palm of it. Fisting both hands, he placed them upon his head and took a step back from the bars, eyes dancing across the faces of the guards – all armed but reluctant to get any closer, even to reprimand the cannibal.

Starling, meanwhile, was stumbling backwards, propelling herself away from Hannibal Lecter and towards the bars of Mendez's cage. Her fast, shallow breaths attracted security guard Jason Roe, who rushed to her side. Starling threw her arms around him, feigning hysterics. It felt uncomfortable – she was not used to such physical closeness – but it was essential for the plan. She needed to move Roe, to fall against Mendez's cage, while the other guards were distracted with Lecter.

Starling pretended to lose her footing, pushing Roe into the bars, as if by accident. On cue, Mendez slipped forwards and deftly removed Roe's keycard from its holder on his belt. With her head on Roe's shoulder, Starling held her breath, watching Mendez's hand slip the card free. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but the security guard didn't notice. He didn't even twitch. Mendez retreated into the darkness of his cell, slipping the keycard into his pockets.

Now it was her turn.

Carefully, Starling allowed the card she had secreted up her jacket pocket to slide down into her palm. It was a clone card – a fake copy of the real ID card that she had allowed Mendez to steal. Starling dropped it delicately over Roe's shoulder. It fell to the concrete ground with a clatter. To Starling, it sounded like an anvil dropping, but the guards didn't turn. They were too busy shouting Lecter to the back of his cell. Starling breathed a sigh of relief. For the moment, at least, she was in the clear.

Roe had fallen to patting her back. Starling cleared her throat and pulled away. Across the hall, the other guards was still at Lecter's door, stun gun extended. Inside the cell, Lecter had moved to the back wall; his hands still on his head, eyes still fixed on Starling.

From the softer darkness in his gaze, she guessed that he had got her message.

"Clarice, ya ok?"

Her attention turned back to Roe.

"I'm fine." She stumbled upright, detaching herself from Roe's grasp. "But I need to get out of here."

Taking another wobbly step, she grabbed the manila folder of papers and dumped it into Mendez's drop-box.

"I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have gone near the bars. I just, I dropped my pen, and I-I completely forgot..."

"Excuse me, Agent Starling." Lecter's voice permeated every nerve fibre in her body.

She looked over as the fat guard erupted again.

"Shuttit, you."

"C'mon, Clarice." Roe tried to steer her away.

"Your pen?" the Doctor turned to the fat security guard. "If you would be so kind, gentlemen."

Begrudgingly, the fat security guard seized Starling's pen and walked it to her. Starling thanked him, her eyes still on Lecter.

"I'm sorry 'bout this." The fat security guard grumbled, bad naturedly. "He's been acting up all day. Trashed the cell earlier. Had to remove everything."

Starling nodded, mutely.

"You ok? You're real pale, Clarice. We'll get you to the visitin' room an' have ya sit down for a while."

"Does she need a doctor?"

"I'm fine." Starling cut in.

She had always hated being fussed over, and the attentions of Jason Roe were beginning to get on her nerves. She knew he was just trying to help, but she was sick of pretending. She needed to be alone and she didn't need to keep Roe sweet any more. His role in her plan was over. Mendez had the keycard.

"Maybe you should get to the hospital, ma'am," the old, fat guard chipped in, "get checked out. You can't be too careful, given your condition."

Starling bit back a retort, about her waistline being smaller than his, and nodded again.

"I'll see to it after I get home."

"I can give you a ride-." Roe plied hopefully.

"I've got friends who can take me." She hadn't meant the words to come off as so clipped and icy, but they had the desired effect.

Roe retracted the hand he had placed on her shoulder.

"Uh, ok. I'll see you down to reception then." He mumbled, staring at his shoes.

"Thanks."

Starling glanced behind Roe to the card she had dropped over his shoulder, whilst he was holding her, at cell 304's bars.

The card on the floor was a clone of the card which Mendez had stolen – in appearance, at least. This clone card wouldn't work. The magnetic bar at the bottom was purposefully scratched out, to hide the fact that it was blank. When Roe found out that this new card didn't open the doors, he would take it to the technicians, who would say it was damaged and issue him with a new one. Mendez would keep the original card secreted in his cell.

Pausing on the way out of the block, Starling set the final scene in today's act. To avoid strip searches of the inmate's cells, Roe must not report his card missing.

"Hey, Roe. You dropped something."

He glanced back.

"Thanks, Agent Starling, It's my damn keycard too – would've been stuck in here all night."

He walked back over and picked it up, fastening it into the clip. It was stiff and refused to conform to the place where the old card had sat easily. Roe frowned. For a moment, Starling thought he was suspicious and then her fears were allayed.

"Damn thing must have got bent when I dropped it."

"Tech already replaced the thing twice for him." The fat guard rolled his eyes. "Come this way, ma'am. We'll have Roe take you out to your car – make sure you're really okay."

Starling smiled politely and nodded. Inside she was feeling slightly elated. Everything had worked out to plan. By the time Mendez had a chance to use the card, it wouldn't matter that Roe still had his card on him. It would remain a mystery how Mendez managed to clone the card from within his prison cell. They only kept the tapes from the supermax block for three weeks. There would be no way of proving that Starling had switched the cards.

"Listen, guys. I'm real sorry to cause such a commotion up here. I don't wanna make your job any more difficult than it already is." She extended a hand. "I'm real thankful for your help back there – all of your help" she addressed the fat guard too, who dipped his head to her. "I'd better get back home and get sat down."

_Go on, play the pregnant woman card... you know you want to._

Starling placed her hand over her belly, and pulled a wan smile.

"Shouldn't really be pullin' long shifts in my condition, anyway."

They flurried to help her out the door and down to reception. Starling even got to witness the moment when Jason Roe realised his keycard wasn't working – in the elevator on the way down. The fat security guard took Starling down instead; waddling her to the reception, where he helped her sign out and reclaim her firearm. As she left the building, he raised one pudgy hand in farewell. Starling mirrored his a little wave.

"See you around, Agent."

"Thanks, sir."

And that was it. Simple.

Clarice Starling had just committed fraud and treason. She had passed restricted goods to a prisoner on super-maximum security in a state penitentiary, which would go on to aid the escape of two death row inmates. She had just signed the death warrant on her career. And she hadn't felt as good about anything in a long time.

Starling smiled, and walked to her car, a spring in her step.

Not so long, now, to go.

.


	38. Chapter 38

_Chapter 38 – Fly free_

_._

'_It's like you said, back in Milan...'_

Of course he remembered.

_Starling watching from the window of the museum. She wore a midnight blue gown – its silvery glow offset by her dark blonde hair. Simple earrings glittered on her lobes. She wore no necklace, no bracelet, and no ring. No extra decoration was needed._

_It was late, and the Doctor and the ex-Agent were attending a charity function. In the five months they had lived in Milan, they had built up rather a social calendar – or rather, the Doctor had built up quite a social calendar. He thrived, out there amongst society and all of its splendour. Starling joked that it was to reassure himself of his aristocratic roots. It was strange, seeing him interact with so many strangers, whilst they had no idea what lurked beneath. She was finally privy to that side of him; the charming, intelligent Doctor that people saw, before they knew his true identity._

_Tonight, they were exploring the museum's newest exhibit, following a dinner in the cavernous entrance hall. Lecter was still downstairs, discussing bone grafting techniques for maxillary implants with a young doctor from Cairo. Starling had left them to it, eager to slip away from the speeches and the small talk, and gone to explore._

_The museum was silent at night, lit up for the charitable guests alone. Starling's feet on the marble floors were the only sound. She wandered the hallways and rooms for almost half an hour, before she chanced upon a small, turret-shaped room, tucked away at the back of the exhibit. It was beautiful in its simplicity – bare stone walls, adorned by one painting and a small window that looked out over the city. Wine glass in hand, Starling had stared out, absorbed in the view, until a voice spoke, directly behind her._

"_Does the landscape please you, my lady?"_

_She turned her head, as the owner of the voice stepped closer._

_Lecter moved to stand flush behind her, head over one shoulder. He was only a few inches taller than Starling and the perfect height to rest his jaw against her cheekbone. It was a stance he greatly favoured. Protective and possessive._

"_Your lady?" she asked, looking sideways at her partner._

_He was dressed in black tonight. Black tux, black shirt, black silk tie. On anyone else, it would have looked pretentious, but not the Doctor. He was born to wear such things, after all. A lord, by birthright._

_He smiled, in response to her query._

"_The young doctor downstairs referred to you as my lady. I thought it had a ring to it."_

_Starling's turn to smile._

"_Like it?" he asked._

"_Well, __I'll let it slide, jus' for the moment."_

_He chuckled, and they turned their attention back to the view._

"_There was a flock of birds, jus' a minute ago." Starling pointed to the cathedral spire, which they had disappeared behind._

"_Starlings." Lecter spoke softly, more of a whisper against her skin._

"_Really?"_

"_Yes. Very common in the winter, here. They would usually have moved further north by now..." His eyes swept the horizon. "They will get a surprise if they roost there," he added, pointing towards the cathedral. "Those bells ring out on the hour."_

_Starling pulled a face._

"_Poor birds."_

"_Oh, I wouldn't worry about your passerine counterparts," the Doctor smiled. "They have survived here, long before humans came to build cities."_

"_They were pretty beautiful earlier." Starling had told him. "They flew together – like they knew what each other were gonna do, before they did it."_

"_They are very beautiful." He agreed, softly._

"_There must have been nearly a thousand."_

"_Upwards of, most likely." His hand fell to stroking slow circles on her lower back. "You know, in Rome, come December, Starlings congregate in their masses. They wreak all sorts of havoc, believe me, but there is something ethereal about watching them fly together. They form spheres – huge formations, of up to one and a half million birds."_

"_Damn..." Starling looked back out to the sky. "You know, for them bein' my namesake and all, I've never actually seen one up close, like at the zoo, or anything."_

"_Perhaps, some birds are not meant to be caged."_

_She had met his gaze with knowing eyes._

_Like you, perhaps, Doctor? Like me?_

_From within the shadows of the cathedral – the only dark spot amongst the city's sparkling lights – the bells rang out for eleven o' clock. Like an explosion, the small birds erupted, pouring into the sky. They turned and wheeled around one another, in what appeared to be leaderless chaos. And then, following some deep instinct, which humans (Starlings or not) could never hope to understand, they broke from their whirling and the entire formation split off across the night sky._

"_Fly free, little Starlings." He whispered against her cheek, words like kisses in the night._

"_Fly free." She echoed._

_._

Inside the walls of the MCAC, behind steel doors and titanium bars, the Doctor sat upon his bare bed frame. Everything he owned had been taken by the guards, earlier that afternoon. Yet, he felt no sadness. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Below the stoic facade, he was elated. His mind was racing. All that glisters truly was not gold! 'Fly free' she had told him, all those nights ago, in Milan. So, this was not end game... not yet, anyways. His Starling had a few tricks left up her sleeve.

Up his sleeve, he held something too. Lying flat against his skin – out of sight, but never far out of mind – was a single feather. It was a parting gift from a free bird. A gift and a promise.

"_Fly free."_

The Doctor leant his head back against the concrete wall. The word 'free' had never tasted so sweet as it did upon his parched lips. He whispered it, over and over, to himself in the dark.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39 – Half baked

.

Starling spent the next two weeks in a state somewhere between high anxiety and euphoria. Knowing how close she was to freeing him and knowing how easily it could all go wrong, her mind was going crazy in every spare moment it had – not that it had a lot of spare time. Starling and Vale's days grew longer as the daylight hours shortened. As December progressed, the FBI's caseload intensified. It seemed the criminals of DC were out in force for the holidays.

Mapp was busy too. Whenever Starling ran into her at work or – more rarely – at home, she was grasping stacks of files and shouting at someone or another. Her case up in the drugs and trafficking department was getting steadily more stressful. Mapp would work until the small hours of the morning. The piles of files on her desk were getting taller and taller. But so far they had no convictions. Apparently, they were unable to break beyond the bottom rung of organization.

Starling, however, had managed two convictions. A rapist and a paranoid schizophrenic on a killing spree were both behind bars thanks to her team's intrepid profiling. Despite having changed a lot over the last three years, there was still a certain degree of satisfaction in completing a case. Still, when she arrived home at the end of the day, she was never sated.

Today was no different. Arriving at home, Starling threw off her work clothes and threw on sweats and an over sized T-shirt. She made her way to the kitchen, in search of food. Ardelia was not back yet and Gil was at Vale's house (Starling thought it fairer on the dog to have other canine company, and a large kennel run, during her long office hours). Vale was bringing him around later. It was a bit like having shared custody of a child, thought Starling as she searched through the fridge for edible foodstuffs.

There was nothing there but an old carton of milk – long past its usable date. Starling lowered herself to the lower cupboards. She was seated there, rummaging through a box of granola bars, when Mapp made her entrance, from the opposite door. Starling's friend made it all the way over to the table and dropped her bag down before she noticed Starling sitting on the floor.

"God, dammnit, Clarice! Why d'you gotta lurk around the place like that?"

"Since when has sitting in your own kitchen been classed as lurking?"

Starling selected a granola bar and began to unwrap it.

"You're not sitting – sitting involves having the light on and announcin' yourself when someone comes in. You are lurking. You lurk. You sit in the dark and wait until Ii amn't expectin' it then you strike." Mapp narrowed her eyes. "Ya know, for a fat woman, you sure know how to move quiet."

Starling chewed her mouthful of granola thoughtfully.

"Now in respect of our friendship, I'm gonna let the 'fat' comment slide." Grasping the cabinets, she hoisted herself upright. "But you're gonna have to tell me what's up."

Mapp walked over to where Starling was sat and, with a heavy sigh, slid down to sit next to her.

"I may have just had the longest day of my life."

"What's up?" Starling asked again. "I know something's going on. You look like you've been told that the annual FBI Christmas party is cancelled."

Mapp gave a wry chuckle at the sarcasm in her comment.

Starling nudged her friend's side.

"What's the deal?"

Mapp sighed.

"I broke up with Charlie."

Charlie. Starling knew that Mapp and the lawyer had been seeing each other for almost three years, off-and-on. Ardelia hadn't spoken about him much but Starling knew they had been growing apart. With Charlie working somewhere on the west coast, Mapp had seen very little of him over the past few months.

Starling and Charlie had never been introduced. She didn't quite know what to say.

"What happened?"

"It was coming for a while." Mapp shrugged and lay her head back against the cupboard. "We just let it slip away." Another sigh. "The distance destroyed us."

"Geographical distance, or..?"

"Metaphorical distance too, I guess. We didn't have time for each other, or – I mean – we didn't make time."

"Relationships can be tough." Starling nodded, rearranging her legs across the linoleum. "I should know. I've fucked up enough of them."

"We didn't want it enough," Mapp shrugged. "We had both changed. We didn't have anything in common anymore. We didn't want the same things..." She looked up at Starling. "You know, he wanted me to move to Boston with him? He had a new job lined up there – some old contact, he knew through Harvard."

"He wanted you to move?"

"He wanted me to leave my job, to marry him and have his babies."

Mapp's eyebrows were knitted tightly together. Starling watched her friend closely. For many years, marrying a well-off man and having babies had been Ardelia's plan for life. So, what had changed? What other reason could Mapp have, for breaking up with Charlie?

"Was it you who ended it?" Starling asked, quietly.

"Yes. He wanted to take a break and think, but I knew it wouldn't work."

"So, does this have anything to do with Vale?"

"Well obviously it doesn't have nothin' to do with him." Mapp groaned and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "I just don' know, Clarice. Everything's changed and it's all so confusing. But…" Mapp sighed. "I think I might like him more than I thought."

A silence permeated the room.

"He loves you, Dee. You can see it in his eyes, when he watches you, across a room."

"That's lust, Clarice."

"No. When he checks out your ass, each time you bend to get something, that's lust. When he watches you work and smiles when you chew the end of your pen… that's love."

Mapp drew her arms across her chest and wrapped herself tightly in them.

"I don't know what I feel."

"Sure ya do. You just don't know ya know it."

Mapp shot her a dark look.

"Clarice, do you know how hard this is – after all this time, turning around and saying 'yeah, I like you too, I would have told you before, but I was being all stupid and naïve about it'? Do ya know how hard this is?"

Starling looked away from Mapp and focused on a cloud, passing across the window.

"No," a small sigh escaped her. "I have no idea."

Another silence.

"Tell ya what, girl… lets not think about it tonight." Starling steeled herself, and rolled to her knees. Pulling open the freezer door, she pawed through the contents. "Here we go… Ice cream." Starling looked over at Mapp. "You're mama's cure all was cough syrup, mine's was cookie dough ice cream." Starling looked to the label. "This is 'half baked', so I'm guessin' it's got brownies in it. But I bet it'll do jus' the trick."

Mapp smiled over at her.

"You rock. You know that, right?"

Starling pulled her heavy body up, using the refrigerator as anchorage.

"Hells, yeah, I do. Now," She seized two spoons out of the drawer, beside the freezer. "Lets get this and some cheesy movies on the go. I hear that's what normal people do when they're feeling blue."

.

By the time Vale arrived, with two golden retrievers in tow, it was nearly twelve o' clock. Inside the duplex, Mapp and Starling had graduated from Frasier re-runs to soppy romantic comedies – the kind that Ardelia loved and Clarice abhorred. The volume was up on full, so they did not hear him when he knocked.

Vale made his way around the back of the duplex, shooting a sideways glance at the reporters, who were camped out in their car, halfway down the street. Clearly, they were waiting for a good shot of Starling. He hoped they didn't get one. Any day now, the news would break of her pregnancy. She could hardly hide it, any longer. Her belly was swelling with each day. Already, there were whispers at the FBI offices.

The sights of their telescopic lenses glinted, like eyes in the darkness. Vale sighed and moved on.

"Come, girl."

The male retriever – Starling's Gil – was on a leash, but his own dog trotted happily at his side. She had turned out to be a worthwhile acquisition. Obedient, good-natured, a sizable deterrent against trespassers on his house; she also provided a well-needed companion, on the long lonely weekends.

"Let's go, buddy."

The dogs followed him around the back of the house and up, through the foliage, to Mapp's living room window. He rapped thrice upon the glass. The third knock received a startled reply.

"Vale!"

After a moment or two of scrambling to get off the couch, Starling made her appearance at the duplex's back door.

"Hey stranger."

"Hey yourself. Brought you a present."

He proffered the leash and Gil bounded forwards.

"Hey baby," Starling received her pet with delight. "Thanks Vale. He wasn't too much trouble, was he?"

"Nah, don't mention it. You can take Two next week, when I'm away for this Drugs conference."

"Ooh, drugs conference, fun." Starling frowned slightly. "So, you're being reassigned, out of the department."

Vale realised he'd made a slight tactical error.

"Yeah… I heard about it today. I guess you'll get the email tomorrow." He shuffled his feet.

"I guess the fact that I didn't find out at the same time should tell me something, huh?" Starling asked, with a wry smile.

"Uh..." Vale felt slightly awkward about the situation. The FBI was slowly trying to cut Starling down to desk duty.

The female Agent chuckled.

"You know what? Its fine, Vale" She shrugged. "You deserve this. You've worked hard."

"I'm sure you'll get placed somewhere good too."

"Guess so. The Mendez case is done and dusted."

Vale nodded.

"Is Dee about?" he asked, innocently.

Starling got that mischievous little smile that she often got, when he talked about Mapp.

"She's in the living room. Come in."

.

The three spent an hour or so, laughing over bad films and eating the snack foods that Mapp had managed to dig out of the cupboards. Starling excused herself at around one and headed into her half of the duplex. As she left, Mapp and Vale were sitting together on the sofa, lost in each other's conversation – TV long forgotten in the background.

Starling's half of the house was silent and dark. She was glad of it, in some small way. Here she did not have to hide her worries about half-baked plans, which may or may not land her in prison. The exhausted agent retired to her bed, not bothering to undress. It had been a long day and a very, very long few weeks. She was weary beyond physical tiredness.

_Soon, soon, he would be free._

_Soon, soon, she would be free._

Curling around her pillow and closing heavy eyelids, Starling fell into a fitful sleep.


	40. Chapter 40

_Chapter 40 – Velocity_

_._

The court room reeked of wood polish and years of accumulated dust. It rang with the sound of shoes. The court shoes of the lawyers and agents, the high heels of the ladies, the less-than-formal trainers of the journalists in the back row; all slapping loudly against the hardwood floor. The room was cavernous, with high ceilings. Any noise resounded loudly.

The shoes shuffled and paced. They clicked across the floor and back – lawyers making last-minute corrections to their speeches. Lecter's lawyer and his shoes were conspicuously absent. He had been refused by the Doctor, who was planning to make his own defence (or, as Starling suspected, no defence at all). The Doctor himself had not been brought through yet. The secure box was empty. Guards surrounded it on all sides, awaiting his arrival.

Starling sat next to Vale, with Mapp on her other side. Her best suit showed off the swell of her belly. At five months, she could no longer pretend it was just weight gained. Last night, the exclusive story of her condition had been released by a young female journalist. The coverage of Lecter's impending trial had doubled, as a result. Starling knew that, under so much media attention, the pressure to make an example of Lecter was high.

It would be the death penalty. Starling knew it, but she still held her breath as the jury emerged from the back room. They emerged one by one, like a sombre parade. In court suits of mainly black, they looked like hired mourners. As they sat down, Mapp reached around and took Starling's hand inside her own. They all knew what was coming.

After everyone else was seated, the sound of footsteps rang from the hallway behind the court room. Hands and feet bound, and held at gunpoint, Hannibal Lecter was led into the court room. A buzz of chatter accompanied his entrance, whispers and the occasional purposefully loud comment from the benches where his victims' families sat. One woman, of middle age and high society – by the look of her expensive coat – gave a small cry when he looked her way. Starling recognized her faintly, from old files, and made a note to look her up when she got back to the office.

The Doctor was settled in the dock and the proceedings began.

The judge stood and read the charges. The spokesman from the jury stood and said that they had reached a verdict. All Starling could do was focus on the corniced ceiling, high above them. Her heartbeat thundered as her eyes calmly searched out patterns in the old, white plaster. It was peeling, at the edges of the room. She wondered how often they repainted this place.

The jury held the verdict, written on creamy white paper which they had spent hours poring over. They had taken seventy-two hours to reach a unanimous agreement – a relatively short time, considering the gravity of their decision. To choose whether a man lived or died, in three days… Starling had sentenced death in less. In a split second, with a .48.

The juryman handed the folded paper to the guard, who walked it slowly to the judge. The room was silent, save the occasional shuffle and cough. Starling held her breath, as the judge unfolded the paper with long fingers. His eyebrows dipped briefly and Starling experienced a momentary flicker of panic. Then, he turned to the room and spoke the verdict aloud.

"On the multiple charges of fraud and larceny, the jury find the defendant, Dr Hannibal Lecter, guilty."

A murmur of assent grew within the room.

"On the charges of impersonating a police officer, an FBI agent, and a vicar,"

Starling saw Vale frown over at Lecter, who winked back. Vale looked hurriedly away.

"The jury find the defendant guilty."

The Judge cleared his throat.

"On the sixteen counts of first degree murder, the jury find the defendant guilty."

Starling felt her heart wrench within her.

There was a pause in the shuffling of papers, as the journalists and lawyers hung on the judge's ever word, awaiting the sentencing. The judge looked from the jury, to Lecter, and then to the families of the victims and Starling, in the benches.

"Will the defendant please rise."

Lecter stood, his hands folded in their shackles.

The judge cleared his throat for the sentencing.

"Due to the premeditated intent and heinous nature of the crimes committed, the court sees it fit to sentence maximum punishment. For sixteen counts of murder and various other convictions, Dr Hannibal Lecter is sentenced to death, without appeal – the date and time of which, to be later determined by the Maryland penal system."

The judge lifted his chin.

"Court is now adjourned."

Starling felt a tear fall from her left eye. Her plan was falling into place, as her world was falling apart around her.

The court had exploded into sound. The journalists, in the back rows, were up and milling. Lawyers were discussing the sentencing, the victim's families and the public were calling out from the benches. The only one silent ones in the room were herself and Lecter.

"Hey," Vale's voice caught her, just as she might have broken.

Starling faked a smile. She knew she had to say something. What she hadn't counted on was her sudden inability to form anything that sounded like English.

"That's good. That's a good verdict." She finally managed.

"Yeah, real good." Vale gave her an encouraging smile.

Starling couldn't quite tear her eyes away from Lecter. He looked so far from it all. She wondered where it was, he hid away. She hoped it was nice there.

"Clarice?" Mapp squeezed her shoulder.

Starling wrenched her gaze onto her friend.

"Yeah?"

"We got 'im, girl. We got 'im." Mapp's smile was triumphant.

"Yeah. He's going away for good, Clarice," Vale chipped in, from her other side. "And, after Thursday, you won't have to ever think about him again."

Starling forced her smile wider. All three of them knew that, even after her thirty minute interview – prison or no prison, death penalty or no death penalty – she would think about him every day for the rest of her life.

"Ardelia," Vale spoke up. "A.D. Hodgins looks like he wants someone to hold his hand with the press."

Starling saw him touch Mapp's shoulder lightly.

"I'll go, you get her outta here."

Starling heard Mapp thank him, quietly.

Her attention drifted back towards the defendant's box. The Doctor was being led from it, towards the small door out of the court room. As he walked through the door, Lecter did not look back. He did not meet her gaze. There was no goodbye. Starling was so grateful for that.

.

Starling was bundled from courtroom to car, then car to duplex, with great efficiency, by the two FBI security men who had been assigned to her protection. Vale stayed behind at the courthouse. Mapp sat with her throughout the journey back. Once they arrived back home, Mapp took her inside and sat her down at the kitchen table. She made her French toast with bacon and the pair of them ate in silence, until Starling excused herself to go and lie down. Knowing her friend needed space, Mapp let her go.

Her darkened room was welcome relief after the spotlight which had hovered over her, all afternoon. The click and flash of cameras echoed in Starling's mind. She sank into her bed and flicked on the TV, for background noise. The news channel was reporting the trial. Lying back, Starling watched Lecter's secure prison van being driven from the court house. She watched as it was followed, aerially, by news and police helicopters, all the way back to the MCAC.

Hannibal would have been delighted at all the fuss he was causing.

With a tinkling of dog tags, Gil appeared in the door-frame. The mood since her return had been sombre and the dog had kept well out of the way. Starling patted the bed beside her, bidding her pet forwards.

"C'mon babe,"

His drooped tail and ears sprang up, all hesitance forgotten. Starling wished she lived in such a simple world – where things were so easily let go. Allowing the dog to clamber up on the bed, she buried her face into his thick fur and allowed herself a few tears.

Starling switched the channel to the national news, where Lecter's sentencing was secondary to an unseasonal heat wave in California. Starling scratched Gil's ears and wished they were having a heat wave in Virginia. It was nearly December, now, and winter was drawing in. Frost blanketed the grass on most mornings. Soon, the sky would start to threaten snow.

In two days, on the first of December, she would meet face-to-face with Lecter. She would have thirty minutes; time to explain the plan, time to say goodbye in case it all went wrong.

Starling stroked her belly, feeling over her stretched skin, to the occasional stirrings underneath. They woke her up at night, sometimes. Beside her, Gil was stretched out, a happy grin plastered over his dog face, tongue lolling out. Oh, to be blissfully unaware, to be so free… Starling scratched his great head. Her puppy had nearly quadrupled in size, since that day she had found him beribboned in a box. He was more of a dog than a pup, now.

"Virgil?"

The dog cocked its head.

"Jus' checkin' you remember your real name."

The retriever's tail beat hard against the ground and he wriggled closer; in giddy happiness, just to be beside her. Starling lay back on the bed.

"You wanna hear about my day, dog?"

Of course he did. He would lie here forever, if she kept talking to him.

"Well, I watched the man I love being put away, to death. I watched the other two people I'm closest to celebrating it. And then, I spent every other waking second, terrified that one of the hundred possible things that can go wrong with my plan was about to go wrong."

Gil looked non-plussed.

"It just sucks. It's all out of my control now."

Starling looked down. Gil looked like he understood… sorta.

The room was warm and dark, and for the first time that day, Starling felt a little more relaxed. She had done all she could. Now, the velocity of her actions would carry them onwards.

"You know, you'd better hope this all works out," she admonished the dog, as details of Lecter's sentencing paraded out, across the National news bulletin. "If I end up going to jail, you're gonna have to go live with Dee."

The dog licked her hand.

"Yeah, you'd better worry."


	41. Chapter 41

_Chapter 41 – No goodbye_

_._

"So I just go in and sit down – they'll send him to me?"

It sounded easy enough, but Starling's hand shook, as she signed along the dotted line. If something went wrong during the escape, this thirty minute meeting could be the last time she saw Hannibal Lecter alive.

Clarice Starling steadied her hand. This was just another meeting, a meeting between where no one would hear what they were saying. There were to be no comm. lines in to the interview room, only cameras with no microphones. She would inform him of the plan, go over it as many times as she could, and then she would say goodbye – just in case.

'Just in case' sounded so ominous, thought the nervous agent, as she made her way towards the visiting booths. 'Just in case' sounded a lot like an expectation of failure. She would be sure not to word it that way to her incarcerated lover. He needed as much hope as she could give him. He had to memorise plans that she had spent two weeks committing to memory, in less than half an hour.

Though Starling knew he was capable of doing this under optimal conditions, she worried that, now – living in captivity, malnourished and probably manhandled – he would miss some vital detail. Starling bit her lip as she unhooked her firearm and handed it to the man at the registration desk. She didn't know... It was a lot to remember. At least the penitentiary had agreed not to have him drugged. She had requested it specially. The last thing they needed was to be talking through a haze of tranquilizer.

"The guards will take you through." Mapp said quietly, in her ear. "I'm not allowed in, but Hodgins and the D.A. will be in the security both at the other end of the room. They're behind glass but they'll be watching everything, just in case."

There was that 'just in case' again.

Starling nodded to Mapp.

"Got it."

"And if he starts giving you any shit, just wave. If he doesn't behave himself, his time will be cut. He knows the drill and so do the guards. They did a practice run yesterday. All we need is you in that booth, and you're set."

"How secure are the booths?" Starling asked, trying to make it sound as if that was her primary concern.

"Very secure." Mapp waved a hand. "Don't even worry about it." Her friend patted Starling on her back. "You're on the other side of three inch plexi-glass, with fully armed guards no more than fifteen feet away. They won't be able to hear you – for legal reasons – but if you so much as wave, they'll be there in three seconds."

"Okay."

"You feel fine?"

Starling felt and looked like crap but she nodded anyway. Mapp, who knew the drill, pulled a smile.

"All righty then. Let's get you in there!"

"You make it sound like I'm off to camp."

A short laugh.

"Okay, Vale and me are gonna be right here, to take you home, afterwards. Just remember; after this, it's all over. You'll never have to see him again."

She knew it only too well. This could be the last time she heard him speak, saw his eyes flicker with life. This could be the last time she felt his gaze meet hers, sending fire through her blood. If it was the last time, could she handle it? If he was caught, during the escape attempt, could she go on – continue her life as if that was what she had meant to do all along?

Starling didn't know. That was a bridge she didn't want to think about crossing until she had to.

"Hi there." She greeted the large man on duty at the visitation door.

The guards were all vaguely familiar now. Starling had been to the MCAC so many times that if they gave out frequent flyer miles, she would be halfway to Hong Kong.

"Agent Mapp, Agent Starling." He gave a curt nod and a straightening of the uniform. "The other Agents are already inside, waiting for you."

They headed in. The doors were heavy; the walls nearly six inches thick.

"God, I feel sick." Not a lie there. Starling's stomach was doing near-cartwheels inside her. She wanted this interview over and done with. The stress was nearly more than she could bear.

The two Agents walked through another set of doors and then into the large communal visitation room. Benches were set out all around. Starling looked about. They wouldn't be conducting the meeting here, of course. It was nowhere near secure enough. She looked to the other side of the room and saw a side chamber leading off. Through the glass panel, she saw a solitary chair set out.

Hodgins, the D.A. and two other politician-types came slithering over from the far side of the room.

"Agent Starling, always a pleasure." The politician with a familiar face held out his hand.

Starling shook it.

"We've met before. Forgive me, but I don' remember when."

"Brian Rodeny, I work for Senator Woodley. I believe you were on the taskforce, helping us on the Mendez conviction?" He gave a wide smile, revealing two rows of perfectly aligned, perfectly white teeth. Even his canines were exactly parallel.

Lecter would have hated him. He had told her once that he distrusted people with perfect dentition.

"That's it. How's your campaign goin'?"

The Senator had started his campaign for this year's run at re-election. The polls were speaking in his favour – decisively so. In fact, the tattler (which had much to say on the matter) had writ the opinion that, after another term in congress, Senator Kade Woodley would be the ideal candidate to run for presidential election.

"Going well, going well..." Rodney gave her another toothy smile.

Time marched on, in that indefatigable fashion in which it always did and Starling soon found herself facing eight thirty. The door to the visitation booth loomed before her.

"Now, we'll just set you up with a walkie talkie, so that you can call us in, if he gets nasty. Obviously, he gets you for thirty minutes, so if you can tough it out, by all means do it." Hodgins looked even more stressed than she felt.

Starling gave him a reassuring nod.

"I'll stick it out, sir. I've dealt with worse."

It hadn't been meant to make him uncomfortable, but the Assistant Director looked away and shuffled his feet anyway, before making his excuses, to go and check on the camera equipment.

"Lecter's on his way down," one of the guards informed the assembled group.

Everyone gathered, near the door.

Starling bit her lip in anticipation.

"Now, you remember the protocol, right?"

"Yes."

"Good good..." the D.A. clasped his hands together, and looked about the room, from face to face. He finished with Starling. "Right. Let's get this moving, then. Agent Starling, would you like to make your way through to the booth?"

"All right, sir."

Starling walked.

The 'booth' that the guards referred to was more of a little room, located off to the side of the communal visitation room. Starling stepped inside and glanced back over her shoulder. Assistant Director Hodgins nodded at her, and she closed the door. Inside it was silent. Starling looked about herself, before taking the seat at the counter.

The glass on front of her was thick and criss-crossed with metal. Three holes, no more than an inch wide, permeated the glass halfway up. Starling raised her eyes to the door on the other side of it, where her lover would be making his entrance soon.

"Okay..."

Steady yourself, Starling. Stand strong and firm. What would your daddy say if he saw you quaking?

"He'd be rolling in his grave..." she muttered to herself.

It was hardly worth wondering what her father would have said. Starling was pretty sure her father's ideas on morality were substantially more black and white than her own.

The door on the other side of the glass swung open to reveal the wide form of a security guard. Squared shoulders, navy blue uniform, strong jaw and flabby neck; the guard shuffled backwards through the door, carrying a thick-barrelled semi-automatic gun, the butt of which he cradled under his arm like a child. Starling wondered if he took as much care with his charges.

Her answer came shuffling through the door after him. Shackled and cuffed, muzzled and looking slightly ruffled, Doctor Hannibal Lecter made his appearance, somehow maintaining a veneer of dignity, though his hands were fastened behind his back. The guards muscled in on either side of him. Pepper sprays were drawn. The twin eyes of prison shotguns were fixed on his orange prison jumpsuit. Starling swallowed, and folded her hands in her lap.

"Okay..."

Three guards assisted Lecter to his seat. Another two watched from the door. Starling suspected that, if more of them could have fit inside the room, the warden would have had the entire armed guard there. Lecter's eyes caught hers halfway across the room, hitching an involuntary response deep in Starling's stomach. The Agent bit the inner lining of her lip, holding back a smile.

_Hello my dear, my lover, my friend._

Lelcter's ankle manacles were attached to a steel ring in the floor. Under direction, he laid his palms flat on the table for the handcuffs to be removed. He kept them there are the guards retreated out of reach. Only then did they tell him he could unclip the mask.

"Raise your hands and remove the mouth restraint."

The Doctor acquiesced.

"Now drop it to your left and place your hands back on the table. One move and you're down, Lecter."

Lecter complied again. The youngest guard rushed forwards and seized the dropped mask, then retreated behind his armed colleagues.

"Hands on the table until the door closes."

He kept them there as the shoes slapped against the linoleum. He kept them there as the guards departed – guns still raised – and then disappeared through the door. The door swung closed, leaving Starling gazing through the plexi-glass, into the eyes of her lover.

"Good morning, Agent Starling."

The side of his mouth twitched in a smile.

"I daresay this is a pleasant change to my schedule. Right about now, I'd be considering whether or not to try and consume what the prison has to offer as 'lunch'."

"Hi H."

"I take it, from the presence of colloquialisms in your speech, that all microphones were, indeed, removed from the premises."

"They never had any installed. Apparently, it's illegal to spy on people during visitation."

"Human rights... always such a hassle."

"Damned nuisance."

"I missed your smile, but I'd temper it, if I were you. We may not have microphones, but, as we all know, actions speak louder than words. And they," the Doctor inclined his head towards the Agents, barely visible through the small window to the side of the room. "They are watching every breath you take."

"I'm being careful. I always am."

"Mmmm..."

Starling lifted one eyebrow.

"If you're referring to the incident with the credit card, which landed us here, then I recommend you keep schtum."

"It was a gentle joke, Clarice, nothing more."

"We're hardly in a joking situation, Hannibal, and we have very little time left for conversation."

"We have thirty minutes, or, twenty eight, I should think, now."

"Yeah. Twenty eight minutes which I require to explain exactly how we're gonna get your convict ass out of here."

Lecter's eyes sparkled.

"Oh Clarice, I was so hoping you'd say that."

"Yeah, I bet you were. Now listen closely..."

Starling leant back in her seat and averted her gaze slightly, trying to appear hesitant, to those who watched them from the other room. Not that her expression now would give much away. She could rest easy; they were blind, these men she worked for. Their FBI blinkers were up and all they could see was what Starling had beautifully presented for them, over the past few weeks – a damaged, tired woman.

They saw victim, she saw opportunity.

"You are to be kept on the supermax block until your execution date."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed.

"You are doing this during transport?"

"No. I considered that but it's just not possible. The public nature of your case, the media..." She shrugged. "Besides, if something goes wrong, it would be cutting it too close to the line."

"Ah yes, the _dead_line."

Starling threw Lecter a withering glance which had absolutely no effect.

"You're gonna be out of here within the month, Hannibal. Everything's in place. I have a way to get you out of your cell and a path for you to take out of the prison. The guard deployment plans are made a month in advance, so I managed to get a scoop on them through the FBI network. Our best shot is on December the twenty third during the graveyard shift."

"Temporary staff."

Starling nodded.

"And less of them. Twenty third has twenty staff less than any other day of the month. And, as luck would have it, its also the night of a big Christmas party, downtown. It will be going on till after midnight, so most of Baltimore's finest will be turned out there. There'll be traffic barriers set up all over town because of the party. If I've planned this right, you'll have a pretty clear run out of here."

Her lover's eyes were fixed on her, shrewdly.

"Am I to assume, by your rather definitive use of 'you', that you will not be joining me?"

"I've a few ends to tie up first."

There was a moment where neither spoke, then Starling gave him the smallest of half smiles.

"Don't worry, H, I'm not chickening out on you."

"Clarice, I have never felt so sure of your intentions. I am not worried, just curious."

"I had to make a few compromises, in order to get you out."

"Compromises of what nature?"

Starling shifted, uncomfortable, in her seat.

"You're not gonna be doing this alone... and by that I mean that you're gonna have to work with someone else, on the inside."

"Another prisoner?"

"Yes."

"A neighbour of mine?"

Starling met her partner's eyes, through the glass. His eyes sparkled, illuminating the brilliance that lay behind them.

"When did you figure that out?"

"I was blinded for a time... by self pity, mostly. I assume that you explained your plan to him the day that you came to drop off his appeal papers."

"Yes."

"I liked the feather, Clarice. A nice touch."

"Some birds shouldn't be caged."

"And neither they shall be. But tell me, little Starling, when did you discover that this cage harboured another bird, one more deserving of freedom than myself?"

Starling held her silence.

Lecter's eyes glittered with delight.

"You knew he was innocent all along, didn't you?"

"I didn't have proof until recently, but yeah, I knew."

The Doctor's tongue poked out and touched the edge of his upper left canine – a little smirk of sorts.

"Why Miss Starling, I am surprised." He lilted, in a southern drawl. "I do believe my company has been a bad influence upon you. Imprisoning an innocent man to free a guilty one..."

"He was going down anyway. I just helped… a little."

"Hmmm."

"Ironically, it's easier to break two men out of prison than it is one. I couldn't have got either of you out alone, but together, that's a different story."

"How?"

Starling checked her watch, surreptitiously. She still had twenty minutes. There was enough time to go through her plan twice. Plenty of time.

"You're good at remembering things, right? I mean, you're pretty much a genius?"

Not given to diffidence, the Doctor nodded.

"Ok. I need you to memorise what I'm about to tell you; it's how you're going to get out of here."

"Ah, so I get the map and Mendez gets the key. Interesting."

"It's the only way I could think of to ensure you both… cooperate."

Lecter gave a short, humourless chuckle.

"Understood, Clarice. He shall not be harmed." His eyes drifted over to the clock, on the wall behind her. "You had better tell me your plans. I may need to hear them twice."

.

Running through the exit route took them up to the last three minutes of the interview. As it came to a close, Starling noticed the FBI men in the communal visiting room beginning to stir impatiently. There was much folding and unfolding of arms. With the end of such a long case in sight, the tension must have been unbearable.

Starling hoped their victory tasted sweet. It would be short lived.

"Are you sure you've got it?"

She swivelled her head back around to meet Lecter's eye.

"I have."

"You're sure."

"As I'll ever be. Try to relax, Clarice."

"Easy for you to say – you're already behind bars."

Lecter lifted one hand, placing its palm against the glass.

"If the worst should happen, Clarice-."

"-You won't get caught." She broke in.

Lecter shook his head and continued.

"If the worst should happen, and you should be somehow implicated in this, do you have an escape route?"

Wordlessly, Starling nodded.

"Good."

"This is going to work, Hannibal."

Suddenly, goodbyes loomed on the horizon. This was their last time together, before December the twenty-third – and for a good few weeks afterwards. Doubtless, the FBI would have Starling under heavy surveillance, should the escape be successful. She would be unable to contact him, let alone meet him face-to-face, for weeks to come. A sharp pang of longing bit inside her.

"I guess I should say goodbye now. We're almost out of time."

The lovers watched each other raptly through the thick glass. Her eyes were wet, his were dark.

"I refuse to say goodbye, Clarice."

"We should. Just in case."

The tears were coming now, whether or not she wanted them. It was fine. Her FBI entourage would expect tears, after all. Starling did not try and stop them as they began to prick her eyes, or swipe them away as they fell, hot, across her cheeks.

"I have not had faith since I was a small child, Clarice." Lecter's brow was furrowed gently, his hand still against the glass. "I have spent most of my adult life trying to get as far away from it as possible. I absorbed myself in fact and reason – in the intricacies of the literal world. But tonight, I am glad to have something to believe in again."

"Hannibal, I-."

"I believe in you, Clarice. I love and trust you. And I trust that this is not goodbye."

"H..."

"Keep our child safe for me, Clarice. We'll see each other soon."

"I love you."

"I know."

For less than ten seconds, they shared an intense moment. Then, dropping his hand from the glass, the Doctor pushed his chair back and stood up. The door behind him opened, on cue. Thirty minutes was up.

"Hands on your head, Lecter. Guard Roe, please kick the mask over..."

The guards went through their routine and then – masked, cuffed and shackled – Lecter was marched from the room. Throughout the procedure, Starling did not move. As the door closed behind them, the FBI director and the other Agents swelled forwards. Hodgins strode through and congratulated her on having completed her task. Vale hovered protectively near her elbow, as she dealt with the platitudes and celebratory handshakes.

After a minute or so, Starling plucked up enough courage to stand up. As she did, she leant against the glass, on the pretext of balancing herself. It was still warm, from his hand on the other side; a stolen second-hand touch.

"You ready to get out of here?" Vale's voice at her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts.

Starling smiled.

"Damn ready."

.

Mapp and Starling drove home in silence. At the duplex, her friend offered to make tea, but Starling turned her down, citing need for rest. Shutting the door to her half of the house, Starling felt her body fill will worry again; dread numbing her limbs and heart.

She hoped it was not goodbye. She was pretty sure it was not goodbye.

…But she wished she was as sure as Hannibal.

.


	42. Chapter 42

_Chapter 42 – 'Compromise'_

_._

December the twenty-third would be considered an innocuous date, by most. For Ardelia Mapp and Benedict Vale, however, it was a date of significant consequence. It was the date on which both Agents put aside a great deal of embarrassment and juvenile hesitations and agreed that, maybe, just maybe, the two of them could try dinner... just to see how it went. So it was, then, that Mapp found herself seated at the counter of a local Italian restraint, phone in hand and butterflies in stomach. She had arrived at the restaurant early, as was her custom in any situation she was not entirely comfortable with. Vale, as was his custom, was late.

The smell of pizza was comforting. Mapp sat, reassured by the knowledge that, if it all went horribly wrong and Vale didn't turn up, she could always order takeaway and drown her sorrows back at home. It was the perfect place for a first date really – plenty of exit strategies. Maybe, subconsciously, that was why she had chosen it. Saying 'date', even inside her head, made Mapp a little nervous.

"What am I doing?" she muttered to herself, gripping her cell phone a little tighter.

It had been five minutes since she had entered and sat down, fifteen since she had arrived and parked around the corner. Their appointed minute of meeting was almost upon her. Surely Vale should have been here by now?

The door behind her swung open and a rush of cold December ruffled Mapp's hair. She looked around, careful to keep her movements nonchalant – she didn't want to look to eager. Outside was dark, but a lamp across the street threw the doorway's occupant into sharp relief. Mapp turned back around in her chair. The man who had walked in was about five foot four and wore a full ginger beard. Definitely not Vale.

This had been a stupid idea, a hopelessly foolish dumb-ass idea. Mapp tensed her body, readying to get up. She'd just call Vale and say she couldn't make it, ask for a raincheck. Better to jump ship than be pushed, right? Mapp reached under the counter and scooped up her bag.

"Hey," came a voice from behind her.

Mapp startled a little.

"Hey."

"God, its cold out there!" Vale rubbed his hands together as he approached. His cheeks were pink from the December wind.

Mapp let out a little laugh, in reply. Her mind didn't feel quite ready for words yet.

"Traffic was a bitch." Vale eyed the seat Mapp had just got up from. "You trying to make a sneaky exit or something?"

Mapp forced another laugh.

"Ahem – heh – no, just saw you comin'."

The pair stood and smiled at each other.

"So, uh, you wanna get a seat or something?" Vale offered, eventually.

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

Why was she suddenly incapable of acting normal?

They chose a seat in the corner of the room, out of the way of the kitchen doors and the draft emanating from the front doors of the restaurant. The two Agents chatted politely as the waitress plied them with drinks and menus. Ordered, they were finally left to their own devices.

Mapp took a sip of her drink. She was driving back, so had refrained from any type of alcohol. Vale, who had a higher tolerance and a lower moral threshold had allowed himself a single beer.

"So how's Starling getting on?"

"Ah, you know," Mapp smiled at the thought of her indignant friend. "She was confined to desk duty yesterday and hasn't stopped ranting about it since. I mean, this woman is clearly pregnant, yet still thinks it's safe to be running around, questioning witnesses."

"She's helping out on your drugs case, right?"

Running her fingers through the condensation on her glass, Mapp nodded in reply.

"The Prado case, yeah. Hodgins wanted her somewhere public, but somewhere she couldn't do too much damage. She asked to be put there rather than getting stuck up in Violent Crimes. They're getting the usual bout of Christmas family homicides."

"And the damage report?" Vale asked.

Mapp smiled ruefully. Starling had developed a knack for ruffling feathers. Mapp expected it must be the pregnancy hormones.

"Thus far, three complaints from witnesses and one terrorized defence attorney." Mapp sighed. "You know, she used to be the most straight-laced one of us."

"She's prob'ly just pissed about desk duty. Can't be all that fun sittin' around callin' people all day."

"Funny thing was, she asked for it."

Vale frowned.

"Hodgins was all for keeping her on as a consult in Behavioural, but she turned him down – said she was angling for a move to Drugs and Trafficking." Mapp's turn to frown. "She was never interested in Drugs before. Said it was all paper trails and stake-outs…"

"Well maybe she's jus' sick of Behavioural."

"Yeah…"

The conversation slumbered quietly for a moment or so, as both agents accepted a platter of garlic breadsticks from their host. Mapp felt Vale's eyes on her, noting his expression had shifted slightly, from the one he had worn during their work-centred conversation. As the waitress moved off, Mapp launched into small talk again, hoping to stave off the inevitable 'talk'.

"Damn cold out, isn't it? Walked down to the deli during my lunch and nearly froze my feet off! You reckon we'll get snow in time for a white Christmas?"

"I reckon so, yeah."

Vale was still watching her carefully.

"You doin' much over the holidays?"

"Visiting my family, up in Poca."

"West Virginia?"

"Yeah. Little place, near Charleston."

"Sounds good. You see them much?"

"Most holidays. I make a point to visit often. My grandma is pretty sickly, so we're not sure how long we're gonna have her around for."

Mapp made an apologetic noise.

"All my sisters will be through, though." Vale continued. "First Christmas in a while we're all back together."

"How many sisters you got?"

"Four. The oldest one has a little girl now and the middle one has two boys. I've not seen them for nearly a year. They must be almost three now. Damn."

"Growing up fast?"

"Yeah. But its good fun playing the uncle, buying them all the stuff their parents won't get them."

Mapp laughed. Things were starting to seem less strained between them. The conversation was flowing easily, and Mapp had no worries about running out of things to talk about. In fact, she thought, she could probably sit and talk to Vale until the restaurant closed.

"So what about you?" Much as Mapp wanted to keep the conversation easy, and steer it away from those difficult subjects, she wanted to brave this question. This was one she had to know – no matter how emotionally dangerous it was to ask. "You ever see yourself havin' kids?"

It was something she had been considering a great deal of late. Mapp had never guessed that Starling would beat her to the maternity ward. Seeing her friend glow with secret excitement, over her unborn child, had woken something in Mapp's heart.

Vale smiled.

"Yeah. I want kids. Don't want t' wait too long as I want to be young enough to enjoy them. But yeah, if I find someone to settle down with... someone who wants what I do." His smile stretched a little. "What about you?"

Mapp shrugged with forced nonchalance.

"I don't know. I mean, I always wanted 'em, but I guess I just can't see anyone willing to put up with the lifestyle I lead. I mean, I've not been home for more than fifteen hours in the last three days."

"Try ten."

"It's not our fault. If you get a break, you gotta be there – even if it's at two in the mornin'."

"It's hard."

"I don't think no one understands, until they're living it."

"Yeah."

The two Agents shared a long gaze.

You're living it, though Mapp. You understand the lifestyle – the pressure, the trials and tribulations of the FBI – and you're not running away. You're not asking me to change, like Charlie did. You want what I do. You want me, all of me... even the work-addict part that even I can't stand.

Mapp forced her eyes away from Vale's, blushing.

"Here's one pepperoni feast and one meltdown revenge. Watch the plates, they're hot!"

The waitress positioned their crockery then flounced off again.

The two Agents absorbed themselves in their pizza. Talk turned to old family stories – embarrassing ones in particular. Old war wounds and sibling rivalries. They laughed a lot. Mapp found herself being lulled into her ex-partner's gaze more than once, and found she was more than happy to stay there, watching his eyes glitter as he gesticulated wildly; telling her about the time his uncle Wilbur had strapped him and his sisters onto the family hog and let him ride around the farmyard. It felt right to be here, and it felt free knowing that it was okay that it felt right. There were no rules and regulations that bound them here – nothing that prevented two FBI agents who did not work together, from pursuing a more personal relationship.

Mapp's stomach fluttered again. Was that where this was heading? It felt like it, right now, but emotions could so often be deceiving. Mapp had always been loathe to predict the future of relationships. After all, they held so many opportunities for failure... so many ways to be hurt.

Was Benedict Vale someone she could settle down with, start a family, live her life? She didn't know yet, but it was round about the time in life that Mapp had to start considering these things. She was nearly thirty seven and she didn't want to leave it too late. But Vale was so much younger. Nine years ago, would she have been ready for that sort of commitment? But, she reminded herself, Vale wasn't her...

"I reckon it's about compromise," Vale mused, through a mouthful of cheese and pizza crust.

"Compromise?" Mapp frowned.

"Mmm..." Vale held up a hand as he took a drink. "Yeah, what you were saying earlier, about balancing family and work. It's the same about relationships."

Mapp searched his face for sincerity. As always, it was there in his eyes.

"If two people want something, they will make it work. Doesn't really matter who they are or what they are – what they work as, or whatever." He took another sip of beer. "If you want something bad enough, you work for it. You both make compromise, so you can be together."

Mapp gave a soft laugh.

"Check you out, bein' all wise."

"It's what I believe, Ardelia."

He rarely, if ever, called her by her first name. Mapp felt a pleasant flutter of surprise thrill through her.

"It's why I asked you to come have dinner with me tonight."

The conversation had become decidedly serious, over the period of a few seconds. Vale's deep blue eyes bored into hers. There was a simplicity there, which she would always admire. He knew what he wanted. He had put down his beer now, and his hand had slid half across the table, almost like reaching out to her.

"I want us to be something, if that's what you want too."

The sounds and noises of the restaurant continued around them. Mapp felt it all in almost slow motion; the chatter of voices, the clunk of cutlery on plates. They had come here because it was near the Hoover building and it was convenient as both of them, coming straight from work. It seemed such an innocuous place to be having such an important moment. But it felt perfect. There was nothing forced, nothing false or faked. This was real, this was them – two people who happened to want the same thing.

Was it possible for a situation to be so simple? So far, Mapp's life had been full of complication. Charlie's and her relationship had been built on complicated foundations. The distance, the jobs and the different expectations of their future had all been uneven bricks, set upon then. The longer they had continued, the more cracks appeared. And neither of them wanted the relationship enough to fix them.

Now, here, in some innocuous pizza restraint on an innocuous street, on this innocuous day, Mapp realised what she wanted. She wanted to be with Vale badly enough for the sacrifices to make sense.

"It's what I want too." she replied, with a shy smile.

She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but she found herself excited to find out.


	43. Chapter 43

_Chapter 43 – 'Intermission'_

.

The promised snow had not yet arrived as Mapp and Vale exited the restaurant. The sky was pregnant, however. Voluminously purple clouds congregated overhead. Vale's breath formed vapour on the air and he grinned in the pleasure of it all. Mapp and he had talked until closing, before leaving the restaurant. Even though it was now past midnight, Vale didn't feel like going home just yet. His body and mind were alive with energy and the possibility of what might happen.

He turned to his ex-partner.

"Hey, that Christmas parade was on tonight – the street party might still be going if you want to walk down?"

Mapp hopped down the step of the restaurant, falling into step alongside him.

"Sounds great," she said, through a mouthful of something. "Mint?"

Vale accepted a mint, most likely pilfered from the box at the front desk of the little restaurant. As he took it, the underside of his thumb brushed against her outstretched palm. The warmth of her skin was like electricity in his blood. No, he was definitely not tired.

"So when're ya heading off for the holidays?" she asked, fumbling with the mint wrapper and popping the candy into her mouth.

"Tomorrow morning, 'bout five."

"In the morning?" asked Mapp, incredulous. "Damn Vale, you might as well not go to bed."

"Prob'ly won't."

They exchanged a glance that prompted him to elaborate.

"Gotta pack and walk Two, so she's tired out for Starling tomorrow."

"You dropping her off early?"

"Yeah, Clarice said she was okay to watch her for a coupl'a days."

They walked on for a bit, feet loud on the frozen asphalt. Vale wondered what Mapp was thinking. His fellow Agent's face was pensive, as she picked her way across the gutter and onto the opposite sidewalk, superstitiously avoiding any cracks. The breath in his chest was a little heavier than usual, his heartbeat a little faster. Vale quickened his pace, to fall into step beside his date.

His date – the words were simultaneously odd and wonderful.

As they turned the corner onto Jefferson, the faint music grew louder. The street was full of milling people. At their end, stalls lined the sidewalks and revellers wandered in twos and threes. Further down the street, a large mass – perhaps several hundred strong – had formed on front of a temporary stage. A live band played atop it, under festive lights and shiny streamers. The song sounded vaguely familiar. Vale had heard it on the radio, but didn't know its name. The crowd seemed to be enjoying, however. They swayed together in time to the beat, rising and falling like some great, singular entity. Vale wondered, briefly, why music was the only thing which brought people together in such harmony – why they couldn't move in the same way for something more important.

Vale dismissed the thought and it passed away into the cold. It was Christmastime and his companion was resplendent in the street light. He had no business thinking of dark thoughts tonight.

"Look at all this!" Mapp was smiling widely, the small gap between her front two teeth evident.

Vale loved that gap almost as much as that smile.

"There's gotta be more'n a thousand people here – I had no idea it was that big!"

"Its DC's worst kept secret. I think its run by one of the local University colleges." Vale explained, as they picked up their feet again, moving further down the street, towards the music.

They passed a hat stall and laughed at the designs, and then they moved on through the thickening throng. Mapp was drawn in towards a coffee stall, interest piqued. They approached, only to find that all the coffee on sale was laced with one liqueur or another.

"Damn." Mapp folded her hands into their pockets again. "Looks good, too."

Vale searched the list.

"C'mon, I'll buy you a drink."

"I can't, I'm driving back. I'll have to be leaving soon." Mild regret sounded in her voice, as she spoke about their imminent parting.

Vale turned his head, watching her carefully. A single strand of hair had fallen from her pony tail, curving around her cheek. Liquid brown eyes washed over his. He wondered, if maybe...

"I'm catching a flight to my parent's tomorrow, too." She added.

"You know, I can drive you back. I mean..."

Did he dare do this? It wasn't very gentlemanly, but the way his ex-partner had been watching him all night wasn't very ladylike. They were both consenting adults with the same thing in mind tonight. And, besides, it was Christmas. A sense of renewal and possibility sang in the air – electric as the energy glowing from the crowd around the stage.

"I'm driving to Starling's tomorrow morning, anyway." Vale swallowed. "You could stay over – I've got one of them pull-out beds, I can kip on – and I could drop you off tomorrow morning… if you really wanted to have that drink."

Now, the moment of truth; had he moved to soon?

Mapp's lips parted, but she didn't speak. For a moment, Vale's stomach quivered with worry, before the curve of a smile formed on her mouth. Her left cheek dimpled slightly.

"I guess I do want that drink pretty bad."

Suddenly, it was a little hard to breathe. A few imagined scenarios – the subject of many torturous dreams, over the past few months – came floating into Vale's mind. His skin felt hot, though the air around them had to be at least five degrees below freezing.

"Besides, you're gonna need help packing."

"Well, I guess I better get you that drink then."

"Yeah." Mapp's smile widened. Her eyes were playful.

They ordered a coffee for her, with the promise that Vale got to try a sip – just to taste. Then, Mapp clutching the warm cup close to her chest, they made their way further down the street.

The music was picking up, increasing in tempo. The further they travelled into the crowd, the louder it became. The patrons seemed to be getting younger and younger, too. Vale glanced to his side at one point, to see a group whose mean age couldn't have been older than fifteen. The girls were all dressed in miniskirts, despite the cold, and all of them seemed completely inebriated. Had the girls in his days looked like that? Had he stared at them with the same hunger that was in the young boys eyes? Had they made twenty-years-older people ache for the young days?

Mapp nodded towards a young couple, lost in each other's mouths to her left.

"Remember that?"

"Yeah. Braces - not good." Vale called back, above the drums.

A laugh from his companion. There was that little gap in her front teeth again. She really had no idea how beautiful she looked when she laughed. Vale felt torn about telling her. He wanted to - but he was afraid if he did, she wouldn't do it so much.

"You wanna head further in?"

"You wanna lose your hearing?" Vale asked, incredulously.

"I'm a secret Bass junkie. Can ya live with that?"

She had turned away by the time he answered, so he whispered his answer to himself, the words carried off in the throb and swell of the beat.

Could he live with a beautiful bass junkie, a woman who was loyal and brave and true - who understood him better than anyone he had ever met, without even trying to, and filled him with joy to even be around. Damn skippy he could live with that. He could live the rest of his life with that.

"Yeah... I think I can."

Mapp swivelled her head up.

"What ya say?"

Vale shook his head.

"Nothin'. You wanna move closer in or what?"

Mapp evaluated the situation then shook her head.

"Nah. Not worth it. They're nearly over and they've played all the good stuff. Better get clear before the mass exodus."

"Good plan."

They retreated back from the packed interior of the crowd and watched the band from the edge for a while.

Mapp shivered in the cold, Vale gave her his hat.

"Aren't you gonna be cold, now?" she asked, pulling it snugly down over her ears.

It was far too big for her. Vale smiled.

"What with your head bein' almost completely shaved and all that? Isn't it a frostbite risk?" she joked, eyes sparkling.

He had cut it last week. It had grown out from its usual marine cut over the past month or so. He had been too busy to notice.

"Nah, I'm used to it."

"I like it, by the way." She added, softer. "The new haircut. I never said before, but it looks good."

There was something about seeing her wearing something of his which made her infinitely more irresistible. Some dumb male possessive thing, no doubt. Quite unable to stop himself, Vale reached out one hand to brush a straggling piece of hair back under the hat. Mapp's eyes followed his fingers, until he retracted them, then her eyes fell to focus on his head.

"Where'd you get that scar?"

Vale raised one hand to the side of his head, feeling along the mark he knew was there.

"That one?"

A nod from Mapp.

"That's from the last person I let get close to me." He pulled a rueful smile. "Someone I thought was a friend, but turned out to just be a good liar. A good liar with a pretty fast knife hand."

Mapp's eyes were momentarily unfathomable. Then, she reached out and set down her coffee up, on the edge of a trash can. Pulling off her glove, she extended one long hand up to the side of his head. Her skin was warm, from holding the coffee cup. She traced along the length of the mark.

"Did it hurt?"

"Like a motherfucker." But not as much as waking up in the marine base hospital and learning that the man I had trusted for three years was an enemy combatant.

Vale pulled a smile.

"Guess we all got our scars, then." Mapp met his eye.

It didn't matter how much psychological profile training you got, or years of experience with the FBI, Vale knew one person could never fully understand another. But this felt so damn close.

His heart hurt a little, with the effort of not taking her in his arms, then and there, and pressing his lips into hers. He wanted to taste her, wanted the pressure of her lips, teeth, tongue against his. He wanted more than that. He wanted the physical closeness - to be next to someone again, and for it to mean something.

The air around them shifted. A soft wind was picking up. Something brushed the tip of Vale's ear and he wondered whether it was a snowflake.

"Your hand's gonna get cold."

Her glove was still off and her fingers lay against his chin, still slightly warm from the coffee.

"I don't care." she whispered back.

And she leant forwards to kiss him.

The embrace had been a long time coming. Months of longing and lust coming together in a simple yet combustive action. It was not awkward, nor fumbling or hesitant. At almost the same height, their lips found one another without much persuasion and the two took in each other hungrily. She had waited a long time for this. He had wanted it for even longer. Her touch was demanding where his was soft, spurring him onwards. His hand found her jaw. Hers found his neck. They parted and came back together, breathless, but unwilling to halt for air. A brief intermission in their serious, lonely lives – a fleeting opportunity to grasp at joy. They seized it with vigour.

Someone passing whistled loudly, but the pair – unused to such actions being directed at themselves – ignored it.

Eventually Mapp pulled back, murmuring his given name. Worried he had done something wrong, Vale leant away.

"What is it?"

"Come on," she took his hand, "I said I was going to help you pack."

"But-." He looked back towards the band and the street of people. "Didn't you want to see-?"

"I can listen to them anytime ...I want this."

Pulling him closer, stepping up, placing one hand against his chest. He could feel her hand press through his coat.

"I want you." Her eyes flickered with momentary indecision. "Is that so wrong?"

There was a moment where the only thing Vale could hear was his thundering heartbeat and her shallowing breaths.

"It's not wrong." The cloudy vapour of their used air mixed between them. "Nothin' that feels this right can be wrong... not really."

A beat of absolute calm followed.

The crowd at the other end of the street were cheering as the band launched into some new song. Drumbeats punctuated the night air – they seemed to sound more clearly in the cold. Another familiar song that Vale could not name or place. Another thing that didn't matter, compared to the moment growing between him and the beautiful woman he found standing across from him. How did he ever get to this place? How did he ever find himself standing across from such a woman – loving her and being loved, by her, in return? What higher power had deigned him worthy of such splendour?

The snow was gently falling across her shoulders. Her burnished skin shone more vibrantly than ever against the icy backdrop.

"How far away is yours?" she asked, finally breaking the moment and stepping back.

"Twenty minutes."

They crossed the street and made it around the corner, as the snow began to fall. They passed the restaurant where they had dined an hour earlier. It was closed, its lights off and music silenced. The entire street was abandoned save the two Agents and a few solitary birds, picking their way through the trash can, outside the restaurant. Even the lights in the apartments above were out. Only the streetlamps lit their way.

Suddenly, from above, the snow began to fall thick and fast. Giving a startled cry of delight, Mapp tilted her head upwards.

"Holy cow, look at this!"

"Guess we're gonna have a white Christmas after all, huh?"

She turned on her heel, walking backwards for a few paces.

"Will you kiss me?"

"What?"

"You heard me." She looked about herself. "I've never been kissed in a street, while its snowing, before." She shrugged. Vulnerability was something Vale rarely saw in her features, but it did nothing to lessen them. "Jus' some stupid girly daydream, I guess. Ya see it in the movies..."

Vale couldn't help but smile a little.

"You don't have to, or nothin'." She added, a little uncomfortably. "S'just-."

"-Miss Ardelia Mapp," Vale addressed his ex-partner, stepping closer through the thinly blanketed snow. "I would be only too happy to kiss you under snow, mistletoe, on a beach, or any other place that so took your imagination."

"Damn it Vale, jus' kiss me."

She had tried to sound vexed, but Vale detected the pleasure in her voice.

They kissed under the snow, until the cold in her cheeks began to draw his attention. Then they ran back to his parked car.

"I can pick my car up tomorrow."

"I'll drive you in, after we drop 'Two' off at yours."

"Starling's gonna ask questions."

"Let her," Mapp answered, boldly.

Vale opened the truck and his ex-partner slid into the passenger seat.

Mapp reached over and turned the heating on, full blast. Vale had his keys in the ignition and was about to start the car, when Mapp's cell began to ring. With a slightly torn expression, Vale's companion pulled it out and read the caller ID.

"Damn." She swore. "Its Warrick's extension."

Her new partner, on the drugs team.

"You gotta take it?" Vale asked. Despite himself, he felt the tiniest spur of jealousy.

Mapp sighed, about to answer it, then stopped herself and set her jaw.

"You know what?" she gave a little smile. "He can wait till morning."

Her lips curved into that all-too tempting smile again. Vale was just leaning into her proximity when his own phone vibrated on the dashboard.

Mapp sighed. Vale's hand, on the side of her neck, felt it resonate.

"Shit. What now?"

Vale reached for the cell and flipped it open. His forehead furrowed in confusion.

"FBI line, ending in 477 – that Warrick?"

Mapp nodded, looking confused.

"Why's your partner calling me?"

"It might be urgent then. You'd better-."

"Yeah, course."

Mapp sighed deeply, flopping back against her seat.

Vale pressed the answer key.

"Vale here,"

"Agent Benedict Vale?"

"Yes, who's speaking?"

"This is Agent Hodgins, calling from the drugs department. May I ask if you know the current whereabouts of Agent Ardelia Mapp."

"Uh, yes, sir. She's, uh, right here."

Vale passed the phone, mouthing 'Hodgins'.

Mapp rolled her eyes.

"Good evenin', sir."

Vale adjusted the heating as she conversed.

"Yes. Yes, sir, I left it at home – what seems to be the problem?"

Vale watched as his companion's brow furrowed, and then her eyes widened.

"What? You sure? I mean, this is confirmed?" The worry in her voice intensified. "No. Yes, I'll do that, sir. Is a security detail on its way out to Arlington?"

Vale sat upright.

"What's happening?"

Still on the phone, Mapp pulled open the door.

"Yes sir, I'll be right there." She hung up.

Her movements were suddenly stiff - professional and clipped, such a change from the relaxed Ardelia Mapp of earlier that night. Slinging herself out the door, Mapp dropped Vale's phone onto the front passenger seat.

"I've got to run, Vale. I'll call you on the way and explain."

"What's going on?" the confused Agent called after her.

Mapp halted for a moment, arms gripped tightly around her as if she were protecting herself from more than the cold.

"There's a problem at the MCAC."

Their eyes met through the snow, and Vale felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Hell no..."

"There was a security breach in the supermax block. The whole building's in lockdown."

A beat.

"They think Lecter's escaped."

.


	44. Chapter 44

_Chapter 44 – 'Waiting'_

_._

To avoid the obvious complications of being discovered with a security keycard, Mendez had hidden it at the base of his sink unit. The panelling had proved loose enough to pry apart, leaving a gap just large enough to slip the card inside. It was a good spot, but Mendez had still spent the last three weeks living in permanent fear of being discovered. In fact, by the time twelve fifteen rolled by, on December the twenty-third, he was practically relieved.

The night had already been a long one.

Mendez had returned from his shower, readying himself to the magnetic strip across the door catch. The long-standing strategy had been to place the magnetic strip across the door sensor after his shower, distracting the single guard who would lead him back to his cell. Dropping his towel to the floor would usually do the trick – Mendez had tried it last week, just to be sure. Shackled and unable to pick it up himself, the guard had to do it for him, turning his back in the process. Attention averted, Mendez would be able to place the strip over the door sensor, preventing it from sounding the door opening chime when he escape that night, using the stolen keycard.

In preparation, it had seemed a foolproof. In hindsight, Mendez could see that his success depended upon many variables.

As he had been led down the supermax corridor, towards his prison cell, Mendez had been preparing to carry out the plan. Then – causing a twist of terror in the Mexican's gut – a second guard had joined the first. Jason Roe (Mendez knew his name from the stolen keycard) jogged after his colleague down the hall, brandishing half a newspaper.

"Hey, Midge,"

The old fat guard had slowed to let his younger colleague catch up.

"Yeah?"

"I'm doin' a crossword. You got any idea what a 'one-lens seeing apparatus' is? It's got seven letters."

"Well that's one of those monocles, isn't it?" the fat guard nudged Mendez forwards along the corridor. "My grandpop had one, when I was a little boy."

"Okay, what about four down. Six letters meanin' a fluctuating playground ride?" Roe screwed up his face. "What's fluc-tate-in' anyhow?"

"I don't know, boy. Cummon, you."

Mendez had stopped short in the middle of the corridor, panic lighting in his stomach. Two guards... he couldn't distract two guards with a towel-drop! And he had to get that magnetic strip on tonight, or they would never get out; Starling had said that this was their only chance!

"Move it, Mendez!" the guard repeated, poking him in the back with the butt of his baton.

Feeling very much like a lamb being led to slaughter, Mendez took the final few steps towards the cell door. His ribs felt like they might break under the force of his heartbeat. What should he do – carry out the plan anyway, and hope for the best? Should he wait and try something else later? Sweet Jesus, this was never going to work...

A wave of nausea overcame him and Mendez stumbled slightly.

"Hey, what did I say? Keep it movin'!" the fat guard barked.

He knocked Mendez in the small of the back with the baton, sending him tripping forwards. As Mendez corrected his balance and lifted his head, he met the eyes of his neighbour, across the hall.

Lecter was lying on his cot bed, nonchalant as ever. Belly down, he had his chin resting upon folded hands, watching proceedings with mild disinterest. Mendez frowned at the cannibal. Lecter was well known for keeping to himself on the block. Today, however, he had been whispering to his fellow inmates all afternoon. Mendez wasn't sure what he was doing, stirring things up on the very day of their escape. He couldn't hear what Lecter was saying, but whatever it was had started a full-scale shouting match between the rape convict to his left and the man on his right – a tall skinhead who seemed to take a lot of offense to being called 'crip'.

Mendez wasn't entirely sure of what 'crip' meant, but apparently it was bad. Three shouting matches, several death threats and a few brandished makeshift weapons later, the whole block was denied dinner privileges. Hungry and confused, Mendez had seriously contemplated leaving the Doctor in his cell, come that evening.

"First letter is an 'w', third letter is 'e'."

Roe and the fat guard were still discussing the elusive four down.

"How bout one of them tilting chairs. That's a playground ride?"

"Fluctuating – means goin' back an' forth, right?"

"I think so. We had a ride called a Whirler, when the carnival came to my hometown. That starts with a 'w'!"

"Third letter is an 'e', dumbass."

They were nearing the door of Mendez's cell, still bickering. Mendez gripped his towel tightly to his chest. He was going to have to make a move now, or risk never seeing the outside world again. He just had to hope that the pair were easily distracted. Mendez gathered himself to move.

"Pardon me, gentlemen?"

It was Lecter's voice.

The prisoner and two guards booth all looked over in surprise. It was probably the first time he had ever talked to any of them directly. It took them a moment to gather themselves enough to respond.

"Keep yours shut, Lecter." The fat guard snarled, righting himself from his surprise.

"I don't mean to intrude on your linguistic debate," the Doctor continued, "but have you considered that you may have the word, which forms the 'w' for four down, incorrect?"

Roe glanced back and forth between the fat guard and Lecter.

"Try 'persona'. That should give you an 's' for the first letter, leaving you able to fit 'seesaw' into four down." Lecter suggested calmly.

"I told you, shut it!" the fat guard spat, busy wrestling Mendez up against the door of his cell.

He was digging in his pockets for his keycard. Mendez knew he had to move soon, otherwise he'd be inside and the door would be closed – then there would be no way of getting the magnetic strip on. The fat guard swiped his keycard over the reader. The door sprang open with a resonant chime. Mendez swallowed, it was now or never-.

"Hey, he's right, man," Roe piped up, lifting the crossword aloft.

The fat guard halted, about to push Mendez through the door.

"It totally fits." Roe grinned lopsidedly.

The fat guard turned, giving an obstinate sigh. He leant over to investigate Lecter's contribution to the crossword and, for a moment, both of their attentions were fixed on the newspaper.

It took Mendez a few seconds before he realised what was happening. Then he reacted swiftly. Stepping quietly forwards, he slipped the magnetic strip down to his palm, sticky-side-up, and moved casually close to the doorframe. It took two gentle presses, but he soon got it to stick there. Glancing quickly down, he smoothed one of the rumpled edges, leaving it flush against the metal frame. Heartbeat hammering, Mendez stepped back away.

"All right, hotshot," the fat guard wrestled the crossword paper off his colleague and walked over towards Lecter's cage. "If you're so clever – what's an eight letter word for 'a watchtower, over a castle gate'?"

"Barbican."

"That fits too!" Roe proclaimed, triumphantly.

"Fuck off." The fat guard muttered.

"And ten down will be 'imbecile'." Lecter added, smiling politely.

The fat guard watched the cannibal, not quite sure if he was insulting him or not.

"How'd you know all these?" Roe seemed more concerned with the Doctor's knowledge of words.

"He's one of them head-doctors." The fat guard wheezed, pointing at Lecter. "You'd do well to watch for this one. Don't listen to a word he says – he's probably trying to hypnotise you or something."

"Nothing so exotic, I assure you. The newspaper was left outside my cell whilst you were releasing my good neighbour," Lecter inclined his head towards Mendez.

The fat guard looked to Roe.

"Well damn, sir, I guess I did put it down. But it was only for less than a minute. He couldn' have possibly figured it out in that time."

The pair of them looked back over at Lecter, who gave another polite smile.

Mendez was shoved roughly into his cell and the door was closed over, the magnetic strip un-noticed. As the lock clicked home, Mendez's heart rate began to regulate. He had got away with it!

As he sat back down on his cot bed, his thoughts turned to their escape. Mendez wasn't sure what an eidetic memory was, but he hoped it meant that the Doctor would know the way out of here. He could access the system well enough, to open doors. But without an escape route, it would be useless. The Doctor had better know the plan, like Agent Starling said he would.

The night stretched on for what seemed like forever. As the clock ticked closer to quarter past the hour, Mendez sat up in his bed and muttered a small prayer. When he finished, he opened his eyes to regard his escape companion, across the way. Lecter was lying on his back, with his eyes closed. Mendez wondered if he was praying too. The Doctor didn't look at all apprehensive about tonight's approaching events. It must be damn nice, thought Mendez, to have such a clear mind and conscience. Maybe he ought to become a sociopath too – save himself the troubling emotions of guilt and loss.

Mendez turned the keycard over in his lap. He had lifted it from its hiding place upon returning to his cell earlier. Now, he was ready, waiting.

_The clock ticked closer to twelve fifteen. Twelve o' nine... twelve eleven..._

Mendez sat, gripping the card tightly. Ready and waiting.

_Twelve thirteen..._

The fat guard emerged from the booth alongside Roe. It took two keycards to let someone out of the supermax block so they both had to accompany one another. There were always two guards on shift – except tonight when there was an overlap, due to staff shortages. Mendez cricked his neck, angling to hear them better.

"Right, well you enjoy your vacations, son. Say merry Christmas to that sister and that nephew of yours. How old's he now?"

"Eighteen months, sir. Got him one o' them electric train sets. Don' know if he's old enough, yet, but I think he'll like it."

"He'll like it jus' fine, Jason."

"You want me to hang around until you're done with your shift? Its only thirty minutes."

"Don't you worry about me, son. You got your family to get home to. I don't mind takin' the bus home tonight." The older man checked his watch. "That is, if Carl ever decides to come to work at all."

The pair chortled and awkwardly shook hands.

"You take care now, midge."

"And yourself."

Then the younger man left and the elder walked the block once, before returning to his booth. Mendez looked over to Lecter, who was still lying in his cot. The Doctor's eyes were open now and fixed on him. He winked. Mendez swallowed.

It was time.

Mendez sidled over to the door of his cell, extending both arms through the bars and leaning that way for a while. It was more than common to see inmates standing this way, even at these times of night. After all, there was no time here, only the presence or absence of the strip lights. They were off now – it being past midnight – and Mendez was glad. The darkness afforded him a little leniency.

Slipping the keycard out of his pocket, he reached around and swiped it across the access panel. It was a movement he had been dying to perform since the first day he laid hands on it. With a faint click, the lock opened. The normal 'door opening' chime did not sound, due to the presence of the magnetic strip. Pulling the lever, Mendez eased the door open, just a crack, and paused.

His throat was dry and tight. Doubts began to whir through his mind. What if the guard had seen him move? What if the magnetic strip didn't hold in place? If the strip failed, his door would show up as being open on the panel inside the guard's booth. But luck was on Mendez's side tonight. The guard had brought a portable TV receiver, which he settled on front of. Good, thought Mendez, it should keep his eyes off the CCTV screen.

Across the corridor, the Doctor had sat up and was watching raptly. He was ready, Mendez was ready, and the guard was occupied; the time for waiting was over.

Nausea threatened to throw Mendez off balance, but he pushed it aside. Dropping into a crouch he slid the heavy, titanium door open. Once the gap was wide enough to allow him, Mendez slipped through, taking care not to bang his shoulders on the side or make a noise. He crawled out into the hallway, still on all fours.

It was late, and the day had been filled with excitements for the prisoners. Now that the lights were out, all the other prisoners had retired to their beds. By now, they would be darkly dreaming. Mendez was relieved to see no hands slung through the cell bars. There were no witnesses his exit, save his silent accomplice.

Crouched in the hall, Mendez felt his limbs shaking. Glad he had four points of contact with the ground rather than two, he scuttled across to Lecter's cell. His every instinct was screaming at him to go the other way – to make for the exit, past the security booth – but Mendez pushed onwards, muttering a prayer to the blessed virgin under his breath. He needed Lecter, whether he liked it or not.

As he crossed the corridor diagonally, he expected to hear cries of 'escape', but none came. His knee shuffling was silent and no one was looking. All the inmates were either lost in dreams or their own thoughts. As he passed the cell across from him, Mendez swore he could see a man staring out at him. He froze, only to realise that what he had thought were eyes were simply the pinpoint reflections of the sink taps. Cursing and thanking the darkness, Mendez crept on.

The nausea was gone as he reached Lecter's cell – replaced with numb terror. Crouching at the door, Mendez pressed himself against the bars. His body was still shaking, but his mind had steadied somewhat. He could manage whispered words.

"Pssst!"

A faint rustle announced Lecter's presence.

"It's me, Mendez."

"Clearly." Came a voice from the darkness.

"Should I open the door?"

"-No!"

Lecter appeared suddenly, very close to the bars. He had clearly had a productive day; the net that should have held him back was loosened at one edge, allowing the cannibal to slip through.

"Listen carefully, Mr Mendez." Lecter spoke in a calm whisper. "I need you to hide behind the booth, off to the side. Do you see that shadow in its lee?"

"Lee?"

Lecter pointed towards the left of the booth, where its form cast a shadow over the corridor.

"Hide there. As soon as the guard emerges, to check on me, get inside the booth and find some form of blunt object."

"Blunt object for what?"

Lecter did not answer directly.

"Use the keycard to enter the booth." He further explained. "It will lock as soon as the guard leaves. Hide inside and be prepared for when he returns."

Mendez found himself staring up at his fellow inmate with something akin to grateful awe.

"Move," Lecter gently pressed.

Willing to oblige, Mendez began to creep down the hallway, still on all fours.

No one had been disturbed by their whispered conversation. As Mendez passed, he noted that all the inmates were still in their cot beds. Not for long, he thought, holding in his breath as he skidded the last five feet up to the booth. Not for long at all. Curling as tight as he could in the lee of the booth, Mendez raised a hand to the watching Lecter. He was good to go.

With a nod, the Doctor disappeared from sight. For a few seconds, Mendez wondered what he would possibly do to get the guard's attention. A loud crashing answered his question.

The guard in the booth sat upright, swearing profusely as his head collided with the CCTV screen. Cursing again, he skimmed quickly through the camera views on all the inmate cells (mercifully taking the pile of pillows under Mendez's blanket to be the man himself) before pulling up the screen for prisoner 207.

"Fucking Lecter."

Punching the desk roughly, the fat guard pulled himself to his feet and, seizing his pepper spray and baton, launched his large body from the small room.

The crash had the dual effect of waking the other inmates. Mendez could hear men shouting all along the block, and the rattling of bars. He was grateful that no cells extended this far along the corridor. Otherwise, his cover would have been well and truly blown.

"Keep it down, you sacks o' shit!"

The guard didn't so much as glance back, as he propelled himself forwards from the booth.

Mendez, shaking and teeth chattering with nerves, gathered himself. He scuttled to the door of the booth and, lifting one trembling hand, swiped the keycard. The door opened soundlessly. Scrambling inside, the prisoner collapsed on the floor.

Outside, the shouts of the inmates rang down the hall.

"What the fuck, man?"

"We not allowed to sleep no more?"

The intelligent amongst the prisoners had already turned over in their beds and tried to go back to sleep. Mendez lifted himself up to peek out the glass pane in the booth door. The fat guard was storming down towards Lecter's cell, rattling bars as he passed.

"Get back, you bunch of ingrates." Stomp, stomp, stomp. "Lecter, you better be sicker n' hell or dead, makin' me walk down here at this time o' night!"

Mendez, remembering his part to play in proceedings, dropped to the floor again and began to scramble about the box room, searching for some form of blunt object, with which to incapacitate his jailor. There were two guns, he noted, but they were locked behind a plexiglass pane and Mendez simply did not have the time to search for keys. Pushing through piles of letters and wrappers on the desk, he knocked a cardboard box to the floor. Out spilled a heavy blunt-looking black object. Perfect.

He dropped down beside it and picked it up. It looked a little like part of a disassembled gun. Placing the object on the floor beside him, Mendez reached into the packaging and drew out an instruction manual. He clicked through the pages, cursing as he realised it was written in some Semitic language which he had no hope of understanding. Searching madly for Spanish or English instructions, Mendez kept an ear on what was happening outside.

"Hey, you!"

"Yes?" Lecter's voice, as calmly polite as always.

"What the hell are you playin' at, prisoner?" the guard sounded remarkably less patient. "I got no patience tonight for some sort of cunt stunt – ya understand?"

"Understood. You have my sincerest apologies."

"Keep it down and sort that bed. My partner's gonna be up here in ten minutes. If you're still actin' up, we'll put you down straight. Isolation – two weeks – no privileges. Got it?"

"I assure you, officer; it will not come to that."

A pause.

"Well you see that it don't."

Wheezing from his exertions, the fat guard began the walk back, heavy footsteps punctuating the shouts of the rowdy block. He let out a warning to the other inmates as he went.

"That goes for all of you! Two weeks for anyone who disturbs me tonight – and that means no Christmas privileges."

He was answered by the obligatory catcalls, but none of the inmates seemed too enthusiastic about isolation, particularly those who were allowed a phone call on Christmas day.

"Good." The guard pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, stowing his pepper spray in his belt so that he could use the free hand to open the booth door.

Swiping his card, he pulled the door open.

"What the-!"

The sound of springs ejecting wires, followed by the tell-tale rasping of a man being electrocuted sounded through the hall. Then the fat guard's body fell to the ground with an almighty slap.

Noise erupted all down the hall.

The escape was underway.


	45. Chapter 45

_Chapter 45 – 'Riot and escape'_

_._

Mendez couldn't have imagined the scale of the scenario if he had tried. Each man seemed to be doing his upmost to wake the dead. Pulling the dead guard's unconscious feet to one side, he squeezed past and bolted down the hallway. The heavy sound of his feet didn't matter now. Now, it was a game of time. They didn't have long before the other guard came upstairs to start his shift. And that was the best case scenario – the noise could well give them away before then.

"Have you got the keycard?" Lecter's words were sharp and direct.

"Got it, senor."

Mendez swiped the card, very aware of Lecter's proximity and suddenly feeling a little hesitant. He knew of Lecter's past and the crimes which he had been convicted of. He didn't know what this man had done, or what he was capable of. He was going on trust – trust in a woman who he barely knew. But this wasn't just about him, Mendez reminded himself. If he didn't get out, Starling had said, there was no way of getting Gabriella Woodley's killer.

Revenge swaying his hesitation, Mendez pushed down on the handle, yanking the door open.

"Quickly," Lecter had stepped out before Mendez realised he had started moving. He was like a cat; sleek and efficient.

The cannibal walked swiftly down the hallway, to the booth, stepping over the guard's incapacitated body without a second glance.

"Help, please."

Despite the shortness of his words, it was a request, rather than a command. Mendez complied willingly, jogging to his side and helping shift the guard inside the booth. They stepped inside after it.

Mendez turned to Lecter, appraising him at close quarters in the light for the first time. He looked younger than Mendez had expected, for a man in his mid fifties, though prison hair was doing him no favours. His already sharp features were thrown into darker relief by the short crop and his maroon eyes – already unsettling – appeared more piercing. Mendez swallowed and considered whether to offer his hand in greeting would be appropriate.

"I'm afraid we had no time for formal introductions," Lecter spoke. His voice was quiet, but perfectly audible, even in the din of the cell block. "You already know my name and, for tonight, that is entirely sufficient."

The Doctor walked to the computer and pressed the enter key, bringing up the login screen.

"Agent Starling informs me that you are capable of logging in under an administrative name and gaining access to the mainframe."

Mendez looked from Lecter to the screen and back. There was no backing out now. He doubted that he'd live through it. There was a look of pure hunger in the other man's eyes that no amount of calm could mask. Lecter wanted out and Mendez could help him.

The stressed, confused and exhilarated Mexican nodded.

"Give me five minutes. I will do everything I can."

.

The floor below the supermax block was home to a large staff canteen. Due to the health and safety regulations imposed upon the building, it was not connected by any stairwell to the floor above. Whilst being inconvenient for staff making their way to the supermax block from the canteen (who had to go down a level before they could again go up), it had the benefit of shielding them from most of the noise of upstairs.

Security guard Carl Rueben was gathering his effects in the locker room. He was in bad humour. An eight hour shift with the overweight and bad tempered 'Midge' was hardly a merry Christmas eve. He consoled himself with the knowledge that, after tonight, he didn't have to work again for another ten days. Thinking of his vacation, he placed his coat into his locker, slammed the door and began to make his way through to the staff room, slowly. He wasn't required upstairs for another five minutes and he was going to make the most of them.

Three other guards sat around the round table in the canteen, playing Texas Hold 'em. Carl made his way over, adjusting his waistbelt and wishing he hadn't opted for the two extra potatoes at supper.

"Fella's."

He was greeted by a rather un-enthusiastic grunt from each of the men. One offered the un-cut deck.

"Deal ya in, Carl?"

"No, I gotta get movin'."

"Ya sure?"

Carl's eyes dithered on the cards. He twenty bucks down from his last game here, but he was feeling lucky tonight. Old midge would be watching that little TV of his. He prob'ly wouldn't even miss him for another ten minutes. Carl checked his watch.

"All righ', boys, you have me for five."

.

Five minutes later, Carl was cursing. His second hand was even less fortunate than his first. Two threes, a nine and a six. There was no possibility of a straight and little chance of outplaying on suit. He bit his lip and thumbed their corners, waiting for his colleague to deal out the last cards.

Overhead, the ceiling reverberated briefly, causing all the players to look skywards.

"Looks like you and Midge'll be havin' your hands full with the boys, tonight."

Carl frowned.

"Think something's goin' down?"

"They've been at it all day," one of the other guards piped up, slapping down a two dollar raise. "Saw Jason – you know Jason Roe, don't cha?"

A nod.

"Well I saw him in the hallway, 'bout ten minutes ago, and he says it's that cannibal Doctor of yours." The guard threw Carl a smirk. "Says he's been gettin' 'em riled up all day."

"I just don't get why they don't send him to the nuthouse." Carl intoned, bluffing his way through the dud hand by laying down eight quarters.

"Well they can't – that's the problem!" the other guard replied. "The doctor's say he's as sane as you an' me."

"Don't say much for you an' Carl."

They all laughed heartily.

"Still, that guy gives me the creeps..." Carl shook his head, checking his hand. "Sometimes, you see him watchin' you, and' you know he's thinkin' somethin' nasty. It's those creepy-ass red eyes of his."

"He's a genius, you know."

"I heard he could speak, like, seven languages."

"I heard he was a psychic."

"I heard he was a vampire."

Another tumultuous crescendo from upstairs. It continued, this time, muffled by the thick walls.

"Jesus knows why they had to stick us under the goddamn 'super'. Why couldn't they have the isolation boys up here, huh?"

Overhead, the noise did nothing to diminish. The last hand was cast and Carl felt a rush of hope as he gained a triple for his double threes.

He placed another two dollars.

"Ya reckon they're stagin' some sort of protest?"

"Who the hell knows, boy? They didn't get their supper, that's all I know. Bet that's what it's about."

There was a murmur of assent.

"Check."

"Check."

"Check."

"Raise three."

A few moments of silence.

"Double nines."

"Fuck."

"Triple three."

"Straight flush." A young lanky guard grinned and pulled in the pot.

From above, a particularly high-pitched shout caught their attention.

"Sure as hell glad I'm not up there tonight." Said the young guard, counting his money.

Carl, now twenty nine bucks down, ground his teeth together.

"How 'bout one more, then?"

.

Upstairs, Mendez was beginning to lose all power of hearing. The screams seemed to be echoing through his very skull. Lecter had taken to pointing rather than speaking aloud. He was now holding five fingers up on one hand and hovering over the fire alarm with the other. Wondering if he would ever be able to appreciate sound again, Mendez nodded.

His own hands were upon the computer keys, hovering over the 'enter' button; about to execute a string of commands which would set them on their way.

"You are ready?" Mendez shouted, above the riot.

The Doctor nodded.

Five, four, three, two, one... Go.

There was a moment of silence. No one up here would know it for a while, but Mendez had triggered a fire alarm to trip in the general population block, two levels below. The fire alarm system was slightly different from the systems he used to design, so the attempt was clumsy. The command centre downstairs would be able to trace it back to him soon enough. For now, however, the guards would be congregating down there.

"Done?" Lecter enquired.

"Done, but it will take them not long to find us here, Doctor, senor. We have to move."

Relieving the still-unconscious guard of the second keycard, Lecter nodded. Moving towards the door, he indicated for Mendez to follow. They left the booth and walked, fast, to the exit.

The man in the nearest cell extended one arm, reaching towards them as they walked away.

"Hey, guys, hey you – you gotta cut us free, too. You gonna need some muscle to get you out of here!"

The doctor ignored him, but Mendez turned his head.

"Hey, Mendez, pal... we all deserve a chance, don't we?"

Mendez felt a rush of anger at being equated to such a man.

"No. I am innocent, so I go free. You are not."

"No, no, man – you' don't get it – I'm innocent too!" he pointed at the other inmates, his eyes desperate. "I'm not like these guys, you gotta cut me free. I swear I didn't do those things. The lawyer fucked me over!"

Mendez felt a hand on his arm. Lecter had appeared at his side.

The caged inmate's eyes lit with hope.

"Hey, you, Doctor man, I'm innocent too."

Lecter's eyes were hard as maroon ice.

"You, sir, are a paedophile and a murderer, responsible for the deaths of seven innocent girls. I hope you suffer a long and exceptionally painful death. Good evening. Now, if you please, Mr Mendez."

A slight tug was all the coaxing Mendez needed. He followed Lecter to the door, which they both unlocked together.

"Down?" asked Mendez, gesturing towards the stairs.

"No. This way."

Lecter took him left, down another hall, then right again. At just past midnight, the hallways were abandoned. The tannoy system was thankfully quiet. No alarms punctuated their fast steps – for the moment, they were in the clear. They took another corridor, then another. Left, right, left; then pausing to avoid two guards, sauntering the opposite way. Lecter drew Mendez through another doorway, and down a hall towards the isolation unit. Mendez had visited it once before, during the first week of his incarcerations. He had spent two days in one of those small all-white cells. He hoped he would never have to again.

"Listen to me, Mr Mendez. Inside, there are two guards. Both of them are armed, so we must work quickly. I shall take the left and you, the right. You have one good charge left in that taser."

"What will you use?"

"I would not worry about my methods."

He had a single lace from the supermax guard's shoe wound around one hand. Lecter was right, Mendez didn't want to know what he was going to do with it.

"We do not hurt them, right?"

"Needs must when the devil drives, Mr Mendez, and he's saddled up tonight."

The Mexican swallowed. Lecter's eyes spoke a thousand words. He was willing to do whatever it took to get him out of here. Mendez wondered to what end Starling wanted to free him. Surely he, too, could not be innocent? But why would she have freed a man who was guilty?

Steadying himself, Mendez raised the taser to shoulder height.

"Ready, senor."

They took a door each – shoulder to the panelling – bursting into the room at high speed. Isolation wards being isolated in nature, the guards had not heard them coming. The attack was over before it seemed to have begun, leaving Mendez to stare at the man twitching on the floor before him.

The guard was blonde, young, barely twenty, if Mendez judged correctly. He was slight, too. The taser shock had knocked him clean out. Mendez couldn't wrench his eyes off of the kid, lying so still before him. He hoped he was still breathing. To one side, he could hear the choking noise of Lecter's guard. Suddenly, the taser felt very heavy in Mendez's hand. He dropped it.

Lecter glanced up from his task, settling his now-unconscious victim to the floor.

"Take his gun and baton."

Mendez did as he was told, repeatedly swallowing to try and open his dry, tight throat.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Lecter looked over at him, appearing mildly surprised.

"He should recover fully within twenty-four hours."

"But is he going to be fine, until that, if we leave him alone, yes?"

After a badly hidden sigh of frustration, the Doctor paced over and, seizing the young man roughly by the shoulder, rolled him into the recovery position. Checking with two fingers at the guard's throat, he turned to Mendez.

"His pulse is steady and he is breathing freely. Your immaculate conscience can rest at ease."

Overhead, the alarms suddenly began to blare. Both convicts froze and looked upwards. The small red lights on the computer panel had begun to flash violently. Their absence on the supermax block was known...

"Switch on the radio and check the deployment status of the guards."

Mendez, hands shaking and feeling nauseous again, ran to the desk and laid hold of the guard's radio there. Almost dropping it several times, he turned it over in his hands. There were so many buttons.

"How...?"

"Hand it to me."

Willingly, he gave it up.

Lecter fiddled with a few dials and buttons and, soon enough, they came across a man's voice. He was talking fast, in a heavy southern accent that Mendez had no hope of deciphering over the line. Lecter held the radio close to his ear as he made his way across the two men's bodies to the security desk on the isolation block.

"Can you work from this terminal?" he asked Mendez.

Could he? Maybe, if his fingers stopped shaking so much.

"I will try, senor."

"Can you access the manual override for the doors, please?"

A task that took Mendez two minutes. He nodded to Lecter upon completion.

"Okay. Access the door commands to open all cells on general population four. Then, close off stairwell access at doors 76, 72 and 68."

Mendez hesitated. Accessing the door commands to open all cells meant that the prisoners on general population would be released into their hallway. The fighting that would ensue would be intense. Guards were bound to be caught up in it.

"People are going to get hurt, aren't they?"

Lecter met his gaze.

"There should be no guards on that level, outside their booths. All the emergency guards are in the neighbouring building, dealing with our small fire alarm scenario. SWAT will be here shortly, but their ascent to us will be blocked by a riot and an inability to get through the secure stairwell. Please, Mr Mendez, relax. Our plan has been considered to infinite detail. You have Agent Starling to thank for that."

Mendez stared at the Doctor for a second; trying to gauge the expression he wore when talking about Agent Starling. Pride, perhaps... or was it possession?

"So, no guards will die?"

Lecter nodded.

Mendez turned back to the computer and began. The setup was similar to the systems he had worked with before. It didn't take long for him to finish the task. As he pressed the 'enter' key, more alarm bells sounded from above. The panel next to the computer board lit up with all sorts of flashing red lights.

Lecter appeared in the doorway. He had been digging in the cupboard just outside the isolation ward and had managed to supply himself with a hefty crowbar-type metal object. He still looked remarkably composed. Mendez felt infinitely less. Possibilities of capture ran riot through his mind; the punishments he would face, not far behind them. His mind was screaming out in terror, but his body felt rooted to the spot.

"Now what?" he asked, voice trembling slightly.

"Now," said Lecter, his eyes roving the checklist of inmate names, "for a little bit of magic."

.


	46. Chapter 46

_Chapter 46 – 'Minimal impact'_

.

"Magic?"

"Misdirection, Mr Mendez."

Trying desperately to ignore the repetitive whine of the alarms, Lecter moved to the unconscious guards and began to strip them of their ID cards and uniform jackets. He signalled for Mendez to follow his lead.

"Misdirections?" the younger man asked. "What are misdirections, senor?"

"When a magician says he has nothing up his sleeves, he says it only to attract your attention towards his sleeves and away from something else."

Gently loosening a guard's hand from its jacket, Mendez frowned.

"So we make them look the other way? How?"

"A plan diabolically cunning in its simplicity. Please," Lecter held out a gun belt "hold this."

"We take the guns?"

Lecter threw a cautionary glance in his accomplice's direction.

"Our captors will not hesitate for a moment, Mr Mendez. Survival often depends upon being ruthless. I trust you want to survive this?"

"But they won't shoot us if we don't have guns."

Naiveté would fade with age, Lecter supposed. Still, the innocence in the younger man's eyes incensed him somewhat. Two steps closed the gap between them – then it was more than innocence that shone there.

"Mr Mendez, I implore you to listen very close to what I have to say."

They were inches apart. Lecter could see his own reflection. He could smell the tangy aroma of fear in his accomplice's sweat.

"While highly helpful to my escape, sir, you are not essential. You may know how to close doors in a convenient manner, but I alone know the path out." Lecter placed a single finger against the rise of Mendez's chest, feeling the heart that hammered there. "If you want to get out of this alive, you must do exactly as I tell you. If I ask you to run, you run. If I ask you to hide, you hide. If I ask you to arm yourself and defend yourself, then you will do exactly that. If you do not do as you are told, your convenience is outweighed by liability and I shall drop you before you see me coming."

Mendez's eyes went wide.

Lecter gave him a moment to absorb.

"Do you understand me?"

Mendez nodded.

"Please take the firearm and follow me."

.

The MCAC's command centre lay near the front of the building. Normally, at one am on Christmas eve it would be almost deserted, but this was not your usual December the twenty-third. Tonight, the two most infamous convicts of the year were missing from their cells on Death row. The police, SWAT, emergency prison staff and (as it was a Federal penitentiary) the FBI had been called in. The roads were blocked for five hundred meters in all directions. The MCAC was in lockdown.

Assistant Director Clint Pearsall had been woken at twelve thirty, to the sound of his emergency pager. He had dragged himself out of bed and downtown, arriving in the MCAC half an hour later. He pushed through the doors, face set with anger as he made his way over to Supervisory Agent Hodgins of the Behavioural Analysis Unit – the unfortunate man in charge of both the Mendez and the Lecter cases.

"What the hell is going on here, Greg?"

"We have tracked the keycard that Lecter and Mendez are using, sir. They seem to be heading up towards the roof."

"Theory is they're heading for the fire escape." The prison warden chipped in.

Both the men looked as haggard as Pearsall felt.

"How the hell did they get out their cells? No, scratch that – there will be plenty of time for an enquiry after all this is sorted out. I need those two locked down and taken in, asap."

"We have them heading up through the third floor as we speak, sir."

"And what in God's name do we plan on doing about it?" Pearsall snapped.

Hodgins stepped in, with a purposefully placatory tone.

"We've got SWAT closing off their exits, but we're also dealing with a riot in the general population blocks."

"What?"

"We have no evidence that it's linked, yet." Hodgins threw in, apologetically.

"Greg," Pearsall muttered, leaning over the back of one of the technician's chairs, fingers angrily gripping the foam seat. "I would be willing to bet on the lives of my wife an' infant son that it's linked."

Hodgins, who privately agreed, kept his mouth tight shut.

.

Mendez screwed up his face, slipping the edge of his recently acquired crowbar into the groove of the metal frame.

"I don't understand..." pant "...why we can't just..." Pant, pant "...take the stairs!"

Lecter, who was busy stripping off his prison scrubs and donning the blue shirt of an unfortunate night watchman, threw him an impatient glance

"Do you recall our earlier conversation, Mr Mendez?"

"Yes, yes. Misdirection..."

With a final wrench, Mendez managed to half-dislodge the panelling he was pulling at.

"Got it!"

"Excellent." Lecter tossed him another shirt. "Hand me the crowbar and put this on."

Mendez did as he was told.

Lecter crouched down, taking his turn with the crowbar. Hooking it into the loose panelling, he began to draw it back, inch by inch. Mendez regarded him as he pulled his stolen blue uniform over his prison scrubs.

"You know Agent Starling, don't you?"

Lecter did not turn, but Mendez noticed his movements tighten slightly.

"I wondered why she chose you, to get free, is all."

Lecter pulled at the metal panelling for a while.

"We have known each other for a long time." He finally replied.

"They say she was kidnapped by you, in the American newspapers."

Lecter glanced at him, briefly.

"And what do you think happened?"

Mendez, not sure what Lecter was asking, stammered for a minute, before replying.

"I do not know, senor. I know only what I read in the newspapers."

"Then, Mr Mendez, your mind must be a confusing place to be."

Pulling the blue shirt snug over her chest, Mendez buttoned it down the front. The guard's uniform smelt of bad cologne and sweat. Mendez consoled himself with the thought that he could wash once they were free.

Lecter swore quietly. The panel he had been prying free began to slip, slicing into the side of his hand.

"Permítanme," Mendez moved quickly, to catch the panelling before it sprang back.

Crouched beside his fellow convict, their combined strength steadied the metal, and soon brought it shrieking free of its bindings. The metal door free, Lecter stood and bound his hand in a handkerchief he found in the prison guard's pocket.

"Gracias." he muttered, softly, in Mendez's direction.

Mendez watched, still crouched beside the wall.

"I think that maybe you have loved her."

The Doctor looked down at him in surprise and Mendez felt suddenly pinned beneath his gaze. The expression was not accusatory, but it was not far off. It was the look of a man with something to protect.

Swallowing, the Mexican struggled to elaborate.

"...you ask what I think. I think that."

For a few seconds, they watched one another. Then, Lecter lowered his eyes to his hand again, tightening the makeshift bandage with a wince.

"Only love makes people act such crazy ways." Mendez added, looking down at his own hands.

Lecter heaved a sigh.

"Unfortunately, people do insane things for far less noble of causes."

The Doctor stepped closer and took hold of the crowbar, leaning inside to investigate the shaft they had opened.

"Is it safe, to go in there?" Mendez asked, quietly.

"I'm afraid that remains to be seen..."

Somewhere downstairs, someone shouted. The two prospective escapees looked to each other.

"Shall we?"

.

"Report from the SWAT team-!" A man with a headset on spoke up, loudly. Everyone else in the room hushed their conversations. "We have two inmates sighted on the third level corridor. They're boxed in at a dead end – trying to pry open an elevator shaft."

"How many?" the police chief asked.

"Two of 'em. We have a SWAT scout team up there, to give confirmation of their identities."

The police chief gave his man a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Tell them good work."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Pearsall broke in. "Why are we waiting for confirmation? Can't we just pull up a screen on them?"

The warden shook his head.

"CCTV cameras are down in sectors B1 through B3."

Pearsall looked back and forth between the assembled throng of law enforcement personnel.

"How many systems do we have offline, here?"

"Fire alarm systems tripped on several levels; climate control is down in Genpop1, 3 and 4; all our lights are running on generator power; ventilation systems are offline, as are individual cell lights and, of course, the CCTV to certain sectors."

"Is this Lecter?" Pearsall asked, in disbelief.

"From what CCTV we have, before the attack, it looks like Mendez was the one accessing the mainframe. Looks like he used an admin login."

The assistant director waved a hand in frustration.

"I don't know what that means!"

"It's an override login – something programmers can use to access and repair their system."

"And how the hell does an incarcerated gardener got hold of this information?"

The young technician, whom Pearsall was interrogating, was beginning to look a little indignant.

"Well, sir, I can't really tell you that, can I?"

"Fuck!" Pearsall punched the desktop, making the men around him jump.

Hodgins inserted himself between them.

"We should, perhaps, discuss that particular problem at a later date?"

"Sir," The police chief jumped in, his large belly parting the two FBI agents and the disgruntled prison tech. "SWAT has confirmation that the two inmates are armed with a crowbar."

The police chief's radio beeped again. He raised it, so that the others could listen. A voice came on the line – deep and crackled by the static of the handset.

"This is Miller, leading team bravo along sector B2. We need confirmation for a frontal assault."

The police chief looked towards the warden and Pearsall, both still gathered at the command centre's technical desk.

"We have two unidentified inmates in orange supermax scrubs, trying to pry open the elevator shaft with a crowbar. Once they get into the shaft, it could get messy. We assess that we can take them with minimal impact if we move in now."

Pearsall set his hands on his hips.

"They got firearms?" Hodgins asked the chief.

"Don't appear to."

A few moments passed, and then the police chief spoke again.

"This is a federal penitentiary, so that makes it your call. But I can't ask my boys not to defend themselves if those two have firearms."

Pearsall nodded and fisted his hands into one another, agitatedly.

"Take them down. You have permission to use lethal force if necessary."

The chief nodded and flicked the switch on his radio.

"Take them down. Minimal impact, gentleman."

.

The heat under a SWAT visor is like that humid kind of heat you get in late summer; no place for a man of nervous or claustrophobic disposition. No one knew that better than veteran SWAT officer and all-around good guy, Frank Miller. He was inured to the heat and the air. He was used to the magnified sound of his own breathing. Frank had done what he did for more years than he cared to remember. He was close to retirement, now – a time that came far earlier in his line of work than in others. He was beginning to get a certain stiffness in his joints that the turn of forty brought about.

He crouched, now, at the end of a corridor, with his men at his back. This would be one of his last assaults, so he thanked God that it would be an easy one. Two targets, armed only with a crowbar. The police chief downstairs had radioed in – their objective was clear.

_'Minimal impact'_.

Avoid using lethal force, unless necessary.

The words had long-since lost their sobering effect on Frank. Criminals were criminals – and these two he had read about in the papers. He knew it wasn't right to say it, but some kill shots were easier to take than others.

Frank shifted in his crouched position and raised two fingers, pointing them forwards. His men crept along the walls on his command, assault rifles trained on the unsuspecting orange-suited backs of the two convicts. Frank followed. The convicts did not notice them until they were ten feet down the corridor. When they did, events happened in quick succession. One raised a crowbar, as he put his hands in the air. The other drew an automatic pistol.

_Shit_.

Gunshots rang out.

In the moment, it was impossible to tell whose bullets collided with the soft flesh of the two men and whose plunged harmlessly into the wall. The anonymity granted them quieter consciences. The sound was deafening for a second, as the shots echoed. Then, came the sound of two bodies softly thudding to the ground. Dropped cartridges tinkled like aftershocks in the silence that followed. Then, it was only the breathing of the men, inside their SWAT visors. And the humid heat.

"Targets down, extreme force was required to neutralise. Paramedic team is required. Over."

Frank man straightened up, shouldering his weapon and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His left knee was beginning to twinge. Maybe he'd apply for a transfer to desk duty early, citing medical reasons. The SWAT man turned and headed back to the staging area, as his junior colleagues rushed forwards to check their downed quarries. The paramedics would be here soon. His job was done.


	47. Chapter 47

_Chapter 47 – 'Radios off, sirens on'_

_._

Ardelia Mapp's car had never driven as fast or ferociously as those early hours of December the twenty-fourth. The roads were slick with powdery snow, the skies dark with cloud. It was late – almost one-thirty – and she was only just making it out of the city. Lecter's escape and Clarice's disappearance being inextricably linked in her head, Mapp's first port of call was Arlington. Her two-wheel drive wasn't coping well. The saloon slid almost entirely into the opposite lane, as she sped up to get through an amber light. Below the powder, yesterday's slush had frozen over into lethal black ice.

Mapp swerved erratically around the last corner, onto their street. Normally, the revving of her engine would have woken the rest of the neighbourhood. Tonight, they were already awake. Three police cars, lights still flashing, and two other plainclothes cars were parked, haphazardly, around the duplex. Mapp's fingers shook as she gripped the steering wheel. She braked, sliding to a halt half up the sidewalk, and leapt out of the car, leaving the engine running. Jogging up to the porch, she was greeted by a grave faced cop.

"Where is she?"

Her first question was abrupt and almost accusatory. Had they not got here in time? Perhaps Lecter had already escaped. Perhaps he had come and taken her. Anything could have happened!

"Where is she?"

Before the cop could reply, another figure appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Dee, its okay, its okay I'm here."

Wrapped in a blanket from Mapp's living room and looking very much un-captured, was Clarice Starling.

Mapp slipped past the heavyset officer and seized her friend roughly around the shoulders. Her body was taut, but unharmed.

"Thank God, Clarice."

"Well, I'd thank DC metro, actually." Starling mumbled back, through Mapp's shoulder. "They got here just two minutes after I got the call."

Mapp drew back, holding her at arms' length. Starling looked fine. Tired, but fine.

"You ok?"

"Physically, yes." Starling nodded.

Her eyes were red, and her jaw looked to be squared a little too firmly. Mapp motioned towards inside the duplex.

"Come on."

They moved to the kitchen and Mapp appropriated herself on one of the chairs. Starling refused a seat, moving to the counter to make coffee instead.

"You won't sleep with that in you."

"Don't think I'm gonna get much sleep tonight." Starling voiced what they were both thinking. "Have you got any more news? All I know is what the cops said; that the MCAC was in lockdown."

Mapp shook her head and dug in her pocket for her cell phone.

"I can call Vale. He was driving over there."

Starling nodded. Her lips moved a little, as if she were about to ask something about Vale, then she desisted.

The cell phone rang out the first time, but Mapp tried again. Vale picked up on the third ring.

"I'll see to it, sir."

She heard him finish of his previous conversation, on the other end of the line.

"Hey Dee, I'm in the car lot right now. You get home?"

"Yeah." Mapp replied. "Clarice's fine."

The situation hit her full-on then, starting up the shaking in her hands again. She hadn't even realised how panicked she was until the relief poured in. Sinking back into the chair, Mapp ran her free hand over her face.

"The police there?" Vale asked.

"Full complement of officers. We've got two FBI guys here too."

As if on cue, two FBI guys walked into the room. Starling pushed off the counter and offered them coffee. She seemed pretty comfortable around them, so Mapp decided not to intervene.

"What's going on, your end?" she asked Vale, as Starling continued to talk to the FBI men.

"We're in lockdown. Lecter and Mendez's cells are open up on supermax, but CCTV is down so we can't confirm they're missing. SWAT have two convicts cornered up on the third level. We don' know exactly what's happenin' yet."

A silence.

"You ok?" Vale added, his voice gentler.

"Yeah, yeah," Mapp surprised herself by responding immediately. "Of course I am. Just stressed, is all." She was better at lying than she thought.

"Hey, there's a guy heading over our way now,"

Mapp heard Vale's jacket rustling as he jogged over to the cop.

"I think he's come to give us a report... Hey, man, over here!"

"Are you at one of the checkpoints?"

"Yeah. I've not got clearance to get further."

"I should've come with you. Sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it. She needed you. You're in the right place."

Mapp clutched her coat around her, suddenly cold and feeling quite apart from everything that was happening. She could hear Vale still moving, coat rustling, feet slapping on the asphalt. There were distant voices on his end of the line.

"I better let you go."

She didn't really want to.

"It's ok, stay on the line. You guys should be the first to know if this guy's gonna tell us somethin'. I'll be two seconds, Ardelia..."

Footsteps on snow and male voices.

Mapp looked over to where Starling had been entertaining the two FBI guards. They had disappeared out the room, carrying a tray of coffees. Starling was stirring a final two together. The scent made Mapp's mouth water. With a final tap of the teaspoon, Starling took one cup in each hand and made her way over to the couches. She set Mapp's coffee on the side table, and her own on arm of the chair.

"I get a five man detail until morning, how cool is that?" she sat down on the sofa, hands on her bump. "That Vale?"

Mapp nodded.

"He's gettin' us some info."

"And you're positive, yeah? They've got them?" Vale's voice sounded in the background of the call.

"Hey, hang on – they've got who?" Mapp frowned, turning her attention back to the phone. "Vale, who?"

Vale must have still had the speaker away from his ear. He didn't respond.

Mapp shrugged and glanced sideways at Starling, whose face had frozen in an expression of blank shock.

"Sorry, sweetie, I don't know what's happening. Vale's talking to some task force cop."

Starling didn't reply. Her eyes were fixed on the phone.

"They've got them?"

"Yeah, sweetie. I don't know what's going on, just..." Mapp turned her attention back to the phone. "Vale? ...Vale!"

Vale's voice rose and fell, growing even further from his cell as he presumably gesticulated.

"Benedict Vale, damnit, pick up the phone!"

A rustle announced the movement of the handset. Vale's voice reappeared on the end of the cell line.

"Hey, hey, sorry, I'm here – that was someone from upstairs. He had to come down here to tell us all this because they've all cut radio communication. Apparently, Lecter and Mendez have got hold of a police radio. Anyway, this guy says they've got two inmates up cornered on level three. SWAT are on their way up. The inmates don't look like they're armed, but they've got instructions to use lethal force if necessary." Vale heaved a heavy sigh. "Looks like they're bringing it all under control."

Mapp turned to Starling.

"It's gonna be okay, kid, SWAT's got them unarmed and cornered."

"Are they sure?" Starling's voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Hmm?" Mapp glanced over.

Starling had moved forwards in her seat and wrapped the blanket tighter about her shoulders. She looked cocooned, as if she were trying to protect herself from the events that were conspiring around her.

"Are they sure they're unarmed?" Mapp's friend repeated, her eyes urgent.

Mapp pulled her chair closer to Starling and laid her cell down on the table, punching 'speakerphone' so that she had her hands free. Taking Starling's cold fingers in her own, she squeezed gently.

"Well, I don't know, baby, but it doesn't really matter too much. They've got a full tactical unit up there. You don't have to worry, there's just too many guns for Lecter to get-."

"Shit!" Vale's voice broke in, over the line.

"WHAT?" cried Mapp and Starling, in unison.

There was a brief pause before Vale replied. The two Agents could hear shouting in the background – men's voices raised, and the sound of sirens blaring.

"Gunshots, upstairs." Vale called down the line, over the ruckus.

"Gunshots?" Starling whispered.

"Damn..."

Beside Mapp, Starling began to shake.

.

Gunshots carried far better than the shouts of the inmates, within the MCAC, but by the time they reached the first floor corridor, they were still pretty well muffled. Above the first floor corridor – in the air conditioning vents between it and the second floor – crouched two inmates who, unlike their unfortunate fellows upstairs, were very much alive.

Alive and quaking, in Mendez's case. Alive and apprehensive, in the Doctor's.

"W-what was that?" the Mexican had frozen mid-crawl.

Lecter glanced back over his shoulder.

"Alarms, I'm sure."

"Sounds like guns to me."

"Perhaps we should keep moving."

"They're firing guns!"

"I'm sure that-."

"-We're gonna get shot, aren't we?" Mendez whimpered.

"Not if you calm down." Lecter hissed back, striking at Mendez's hand with his foot to get his attention. "We must stick to the plan and we must do it promptly. Now move!"

They continued onwards, shuffling on their bellies. The passage way was narrow at the best of times. At the corner where they were now lodged, Lecter couldn't even lift his head. They had just enough room to extend their arms to drag themselves forwards. It had always looked rather easier in the movies. Then again, Lecter was willing to admit that he was no Bruce Willis. Wincing as he caught his bandaged hand on a loose screw, he inched forwards.

"How much longer?" Mendez panted, from behind.

He was slightly broader than Lecter, and the tunnel was taking its toll on him. The younger man's breathing had devolved into a series of harsh pants.

"Another ten meters."

"And how after do we," Mendez panted, "get out?"

"A grate. Now hush."

Mendez did as he was told, silently crawling along behind Lecter until the Doctor came upon the ventilation grate which would serve as they exit. It dropped into a large empty room, just off the loading bay entrance. As per Starling's instructions, the Doctor paused and investigated the situation from above, appraising that there were no guards in the room, or visible vicinity, before speaking to Mendez.

"This is our exit, Mr Mendez. Once I unscrew the grate, we drop down."

"Head forward?"

"We crawl over the grate and lower our feet through first, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Excellent."

"There will be guards."

"Yes. Outside the room, there will be guards. We will have to find cover in the room below."

"How do we get past the guards?"

"One step at a time." Lecter began to unscrew the bottom corner of the grate. "Once we are hidden below, I shall explain."

The Doctor could tell that his younger companion was beginning to descend into a state of terror. His breathing had become shorter and harsh. The sound of Mendez's teeth chattering filled the cramped vent. Inching forwards, Lecter pried the grate open and shifted it forwards, along the shaft. Peering down into the room below, he checked, again, that no guards were present.

"After I drop down, follow, doing exactly as I have done. Do you understand me, Mr Mendez?"

"Yes, yes."

Pulling his chest and torso over the grate, Lecter manoeuvred himself along until his bent legs could be pushed down through it. Moving quickly then – for urgency was never far from his thoughts – he slid them down. Taking the weight of his body on his arms, he slowly lowered himself through the grate. For a moment or two, he felt doubtful that he would fit, but then he was through. He released his hold on the grate's sides – he couldn't have held on any longer, anyway – and let his body fall to the floor.

The drop was long enough to cause considerable pain. One of his legs buckled as he landed, and he was forced to drop to all fours, grimacing in pain. Ankle injury – probably sub-talar – he could feel the tendons stretched uncomfortably. Foot throbbing, he scrambled across the floor in an undignified fashion, seeking the most secluded corner of the room. Once there, he looked back to the grate. Mendez's round worried face was framed in it, watching him.

"Now?" he mouthed.

Lecter nodded.

There was a loud clatter as Mendez pulled himself forwards. Lecter winced and directed his attention to the doorway. Through the glass panel in the door, he could glimpse the two SWAT agents holding the front door. They were new agents, surely. The one on the left grasped his gun too tightly; the other cradled his loosely, as if it were a newborn infant. They should not be difficult to distract. In prison guard uniforms, carrying weapons, they would be able to get close enough… just close enough…

A crash sounded through the room as Mendez fell from the grate. Lecter jumped, head whipping around, his eyes seeking his noisy accomplice. There was no way that the SWAT agents had not that!

"Over here!" Lecter hissed.

Mendez lifted his body free of the ground and pulled himself over to Lecter's side.

"Hold this." Lecter yanked him upright and shoved the pistol into one of his hands. "Look like you're meant to be here."

"Like I-?"

"Like you're meant to be here. Focus on the grate with the gun."

Sure enough, footsteps slapped close to the door. Hushed voices. Lecter reached down to his bound hand and slipped the bandage clear. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the two sides of the wound and pulled them roughly apart. Blood pooled then seeped from the wound. Raising his hand to his face, he flexed his fingers, causing the blood flow to thicken. Soon, half his face was obscured with red. Just in time to disguise his identity as the SWAT agents burst into the room, guns drawn. Lecter threw up his hands and threw on a West Virginian accent.

"They're in the vents, man, in the vents! I heard them, just there!"

Of course, Mendez and he were in prison guard blues. They had a gun, which was pointed at the grate's opening. There was no reason for the SWAT agents not to trust them.

"Get behind them – they've got AK47's." Lecter said to Mendez, pushing him roughly towards the guards.

"Shit! I thought they had them pinned upstairs." The taller guard whispered, to his friend.

Lecter decided to make himself useful.

"Turned out it was jus' two boys escaped from isolation" he offered, with the appropriate amount of excitement. "With all the systems down, they got out."

The SWAT men exchanged a glance, and one shifted nervously.

"Should we radio in?" the short one asked, voice muffled behind the visor.

"Negative." The taller replied. "The convicts have a radio."

"Sir," Mendez spoke up.

Lecter glanced sideways in surprise, fixing his accomplice with a warning glance.

"Sir, my friend needs his head looked at." For once, the broken English worked to his advantage. He sounded just like a scared kid. "There's lots of blood… so much blood…"

One of the agents turned to the other.

"Luke, he's right. That guy don' look too hot."

The taller agent motioned for them to leave the room and go out to the hall.

"The door's open. Get out to one of the squad cars outside. Tell them to use the police comm. to get more men down here, now. There's a first aid kit on the wall." The tall agent shrugged off his jacket. "Throw this over your friend, keep warm and keep pressure on that head wound."

Mendez nodded.

"And you both?"

"We'll hold them up here, for now."

"They're armed," Lecter coughed, squeezing his hand against his forehead so that more blood seeped down. "Be careful."

They left the room, staggering over one another – Mendez almost too quickly. Lecter leaned on him, to slow him down.

"Less haste, more speed, Mr Mendez." Lecter hissed in his ear, as they stumbled towards the exit.

They were so close that the Doctor was having trouble tempering himself, but it was a necessity. They must be quick, but not too fast. They must look scared, but not too desperate. Everything depended on moderation now. They must be noticed, but not remembered by the policemen they encounter. And, above all, Mendez must keep his mouth shut.

"I shall do the talking." The Doctor whispered, as Mendez 'helped' him through the doors.

"What if they recognise me?"

"They won't."

"How you can be sure?"

"It's dark and you're a faceless villain. You appeared in the papers less than five times, during your entire trialling."

Mendez quivered against Lecter's arm, as they stepped out into the night air.

"Raise your hands."

He did as he was told.

Outside, a host of police and emergency services lurked, lights twinkling against the midnight Baltimore sky. Before them, a single police vehicle sat in the road, a single cop standing beside it. As Mendez and Lecter approached, he shone his flashlight in their direction.

"News?"

Lecter made sure to smear the blood more liberally across his face.

"No news." Lecter shouted back. "We were told to make our way over here by our super on Gen pop. We were injured in the riots. We need to get to a hospital, I've got a lot of blood here."

One black-clad man stepped forwards, gun held loosely against his chest. He nodded towards Lecter.

"Where are the two agents at the door?"

"Moving further in. Orders from above. Please, sir, the hospital."

The policeman looked about himself, unsure for a moment, and then he waved them forward.

"C'mon then."

They scrambled into the car, taking the backseats. Mendez had the coat pulled up to his ears, shaking with cold and fear. Lecter found the muscles in his arms were in tremor also. The policeman in the front wheeled the car around and pointed it in the direction of the barrier. Things were beginning to move quickly. Lecter knew he had very little time to prepare himself. At the barrier, they would check for identification, and he and Mendez's covers would be blown wide open. There was very little time.

He leant over to Mendez.

"Slump over in the chair."

"Why?"

"Do it." Lecter hissed.

Mendez gave a very convincing groan and toppled over, clutching the side of his head.

"Shit. Buddy, you've got to hurry up and get him to a doctor." Lecter gripped the cop's shoulder over the seat. "He won't wake up!"

"Is he bleeding?"

"I dunno… his eyes went all funny, and he's shaking. I think it's a seizure!"

"Shit."

"Do you have sirens?"

"Yeah."

"Put them on, we need to get this guy to a hospital."

Fumbling with the radio and switches in his cabin, the cop did just so. The lights overhead began to flash blue and red. Blue and red dazzled across the snow which had melted on the windscreen of the car. Blue and red reflected in the windows of the other cars as they approached the checkpoint. The cop slowed the car as they approached. However, the two cops at the checkpoint shone the flashlight inside the car – took one look at Lecter's bloody head, Mendez's lolling neck and both of their prison uniforms – and waved them on. The cop in the front seat raised a hand in recognition and they drove on.

The cop flicked a switch and spoke into the radio.

"Send someone back to exit 31, to cover my post. I'm running two of the prison guys over to Mercy hospital. They're beat up pretty bad."

"No problem, Kuiper, we're on it."

Radio off, sirens on.

Accelerating, they moved through. Blue and red light shone on the wet road. Lecter barely dared to breathe as they began to put distance between themselves and the checkpoint. Beside him, Mendez lay very still. Lecter was gripping his shoulders – as if trying to wake him. The rapid beat of the younger man's pulse trilled beneath his fingertips. Usually, by the time Lecter was close enough to feel a man's pulse, it was already slowing. It was strange.

Lecter steadied his breath, letting his hand wander down to Mendez's. His fingers found the cold metal barrel of the pistol there, and pulled it into his palm.

Safety off…


	48. Chapter 48

_Chapter 48 – 'Freedom'_

.

Assistant Director Pearsall paced up and down the small control room. The old, recycled air of the MCAC filled his nose and mouth with each frustrated breath. They had been at this search for nearly six hours now. No Lecter. No Mendez. Just two very dead isolation convicts in the third floor corridor.

"Report!" he snapped at a passing FBI agent.

The young man glanced over and shook his head.

"Nothing new, sir."

Pearsall lifted his hand to his mouth, biting at the edge of his thumb nail. Hodgins was up in the newly secured supermax block, checking through Lecter's scanty belongings with the SWAT team. Pearsall had declined the offer to join. The perimeter of the building was cordoned off. The SWAT team had been combing the building systematically since their arrival. Unless Lecter could walk through walls, he was going nowhere.

The police chief walked through the room, headset turned up full volume and slung around his neck. He was barking angrily at whoever was on the other end. Pearsall watched him come and go, his mind elsewhere – on his wife and son, sleeping at home. The baby would be up about now, crying for a feed. His wife would be moving about the kitchen, in slippers and a dressing gown, warming up a bottle. She might put on the radio. She might switch on the TV set in the lounge, to keep herself awake as the milk warmed. She might read the news reports and worry. He should call.

Standing decisively, he made his way out into the hall, digging through his pockets for his cell phone. The damn thing was so small he never could find it. Just as his fingers closed around the plastic frame, a voice piped up behind him.

"Assistant Director, sir?"

Pearsall turned.

A young woman was standing behind him. She had a file in one hand and a distinctly worried look in her eyes.

"Yes?" Pearsall barked.

"We just received a call through the police switchboard, from a patrol car, just outside the perimeter. They found a black and white, abandoned. When they popped the trunk, they found its driver – a Christian Kuiper – tied up and gagged with a strip of orange fabric."

Pearsall stared.

"Where was this – when?"

"At that disused fabric factory building, down off thirty-second street – about twenty minutes ago. We just got the call routed through here, now."

"Do SWAT know?"

"Yes. They're on their way over."

"The car and the fabric… how can they be sure it's from here?"

"We checked the records. That cop had been assigned to street patrol, tonight. All patrol cops in the area were called in when the alarms went off." The young woman paused and swallowed. "Also, the… uh, fabric… It had a prisoner number printed on it. Number 207?"

Pearsall felt a snarl well within his throat.

"Lecter."

.

Baltimore had never felt as appealing as that night that Hannibal Lecter drove away from it, a free man. Lights sparkled in the darkness, like stars in the night sky. The truck they had found, parked behind the warehouse, pulled slightly to the left. The steering wheel was stiff and the radio didn't work, but it was the most satisfying drive of Lecter's life. It was a drive to freedom.

Freedom, in Lecter and Mendez's case, lay just across the New York border, in a small farmhouse. Starling had rented it in cash, four weeks ago. The thought of being somewhere she had so recently been thrilled Lecter. Would she have left a note, perhaps? He didn't much mind. The mere scent of her would do for now.

"How long do we drive?"

Mendez's voice was small in the back seat. He was stretched out there, lying wrapped in both sets of prison scrubs and his stolen guard's uniform. Lecter had opted for the time-stained t-shirt they had found in the back of the trunk. It itched, but at least it was clean.

He heard Mendez shifting across the back seat.

"Not much longer, an hour or so, at most. Keep your head low, please."

"Yes, Doctor, senor."

Why the whelp had to accompany him was beyond Lecter's comprehension. Mendez's purpose had been to facilitate his escape. Once Starling had found out that Mendez was innocent of his crimes, she had been presented with a dilemma. Lecter could only imagine the turmoil she had gone through, helping to send Mendez down for murder, when she knew the truth. He under stood that, to satisfy her moral conscience, she had to let him escape also. He understood that. Still, he could see no need for the continued contact.

There was nothing they could do for him. Mendez was innocent, but with a man as powerful as senator Kade Woodley on his back, the FBI would never stop searching for him. The young man should just cut his losses and run.

Lecter sighed. His every instinct was telling him to dump the young Mexican at the next truck stop. But Clarice had asked him a favour. And Hannibal was loathe to deny her this small token. If his lady demanded it, he would deal with Mendez for a few days. If his lady demanded it, he would move heaven and earth…

Baltimore flickered between the trees along the road. Beautiful.

Lecter drove on.

.


	49. Chapter 49

_Chapter 49 – We all got secrets_

.

Three weeks on from the prison break, at the MCAC high security facility, Vale was still reeling from the experience.

He had never heard so many sirens, or seen so many cops in one place. The guns, the lights, the sheer noise of the inmates rioting and the sirens wailing – the snap and crackle of walkie talkies as the SWAT team surged through the building. The waiting was almost as bad as the noise. He had hung around the building for nearly five hours as they gave a definitive sweep – even after local beat cops had picked up the black-and-white Lecter and Mendez used to escape.

The whole situation had been a fiasco. Nobody knew where they were supposed to be deployed. With alarms and riots happening all over the building, and with the convicts in possession of a police radio, there was very little they could do except blame each other. And blame they did. The warden of the MCAC had resigned, taking several of his employees with him – namely the guards who had been playing poker in the locker room whilst the escape was happening. Vale had never seen a man as pissed as Assistant Director Clint Pearsall that evening. Or, at least, he hadn't until he saw Senator Kade Woodley.

Woodley had released a very public, very angry statement the next morning, to the local press. The FBI director had been on the phone to the department within minutes. Things were not looking good. If leads on the two convicts could not be found, then heads would roll.

Vale had spent the last two weeks searching desperately for any hint of a lead. The department and inter-agency taskforce were working from the theory that Mendez was either dead or now travelling independently of Lecter. Neither of their profiles spoke any kind of cooperation to the behavioural analysis unit. Then again, neither of their profiles had predicted their extraordinary break either.

The sophistication of what they had pulled off raised many questions. Firstly, how Mendez had managed to clone the MCAC guard's security card without leaving his high-security cell. Vale knew that many things could be obtained in prison, but there was a nagging doubt in his heart. He, along with many other good agents, suspected that Mendez and Lecter had outside help – someone who worked in the MCAC, perhaps. So, they had spent the previous week interrogating employees. Everyone from kitchen staff to the cleaning crew was dragged in one-by-one and their stories and alibis were tested. At the end of it all, they were no closer to finding out what had happened than they were to begin with.

Vale was tired. Vale was pissed. Vale missed Ardelia Mapp, who was down in Miami, following a break in her Drugs and Trafficking case. He didn't feel like getting up out of bed and heading in to work. He didn't even feel like getting up out of bed. He had only got home five hours ago and his muscles ached with sleep deprivation. Unfortunately, he did not have a choice. Supervisory Special Agent Hodgins was on the warpath.

SSA Hodgins had been in charge of both the Lecter and Mendez cases and was growing more haggard with every day they went un-captured. Pressure from the powers that be had turned him into a rabid dog of a man. Vale had decided it was wise to keep his head down – especially as he was the only Agent who had worked under Hodgins' on both cases. If heads were going to roll, his would be among them.

So Vale dragged his body upright. He was wearing three sweaters and two pairs of sweatpants. It was freezing in his house and the heating had packed in a few days ago. He didn't have the time or the money to do anything about it. It was only him and the dog, though, and she didn't mind.

Vale's pet jumped up from her basket as he entered the kitchen and made a show of affection until he fed her. He ate some cold bread and drank some instant coffee, then showered until he was thawed, dressed and left. The truck didn't start until the third try. The engine was sluggish in the frigid air. There was still frost heavy on the ground and the sky had barely begun to lighten. As he struggled to get the engine to turn over, Vale looked out at the pre-dawn. Its beauty was lost on him today.

Truck started, he drove slowly in, along icy roads. It took half an hour longer than most mornings. The night had been the coldest of the year and yesterday's slight thaw had created a lethal layer of black ice. Vale passed an abandoned car as he turned out onto the highway. Its occupant had obviously underestimated the ice. Careful not to do the same, Vale slowly wound his way towards downtown DC.

.

Mapp frowned behind large sunglasses. She was holding a map in one hand and her phone against her ear in the other. Stopped at the side of the road, she was trying to find her way to her hotel. She was already running late – she didn't need this!

Giving a growl of frustration, she threw the map back into the passenger seat and turned her attention back to the phone. It stopped ringing and went through to the sound of an answering machine.

"This is Clarice Starling, leave a message an' I'll get back to you."

Mapp swore and hung up, throwing the phone in to the passenger seat on top of the local guide booklet.

When Mapp had stepped off the plane this morning and turned on her phone, she had received two voicemail message. The first was from Starling.

'_Hey. I just wanted you to know that I skipped town for the day, to make some calls. It's family stuff I couldn't do at home – with my security detail hanging around like flies. Anyway, the FBI will probably call you first, to see if you'd heard from me. Just wanted to give you a heads-up and to tell you not to worry. I'm safe and secure. Jus' need some time to myself. I'll be fine. Love you, girl. Speak soon._'

The second voicemail message was from the FBI telling her to get in contact as soon as possible – that Starling had gone AWOL.

Mapp had tried to call her back, but Starling's phone was off, or out of service. Trust Starling, Mapp thought bitterly, to disappear with no explanation of why and or where she was going. And what was this 'family stuff'? Mapp assumed it must be about the baby. But while she understood it must be uncomfortable, making personal calls on front of the five-man security detail, Starling had a serial murderer after her. Surely there were some priorities to be observed here?

Trust Starling to cause such a fuss just to have a private conversation. Mapp glared out the window at the sunny Florida day around her. When she got home, she and Starling were going to have words.

She picked up her phone again and pressed speed-dial two.

"Uh, yu-huh?" Vale sounded exhausted.

"Vale, it's me."

"Hey!"

It warmed her, to hear his voice change at the sound of hers. She wished she was up north, even in the icy grip of DC's winter.

"How was your flight?"

"Terrible, but I'll tell you about that later. Can you do me a favour?"

"Shoot, anything."

She could tell he was smiling. He sounded different when he smiled.

"I need you to check Starling's office for me."

"For what?"

"Her phone."

"Can you not reach her?"

"Indulge me, Ben."

It was something Starling always used to do. When she wanted to skip out of the limelight for a few hours (or, occasionally, days) she would drop her phone off at FBI headquarters and take to the road. She hadn't done it for years – not since the first Lecter escapade. Mapp did not pretend to know why she did it. But she did know that if Starling's phone was at her office, then Starling was safe and sound.

A rustling sounded on the other end, as Vale got up and made his way to the elevator. The familiar sounds of the FBI building made it easy to track his progress. Out of the bullpen and down the hall, he turned left, along the hard floors. His shoes changed their tone as he crossed the carpeted lobby and into the elevator. The click of the elevator doors closing marked his descent, then the ping as he reached his destination. He stepped out on Starling's floor, clearing his throat as he did so.

"So, Starling's on the lam, then?"

Mapp rolled her eyes as she listened to him walk along the hallway.

"Have you not heard?"

"Nope. They must be keeping it quiet."

Mapp could understand that. After all, a six-month pregnant woman escaping the FBI's best security officers didn't show them in such a good light.

"She left a note for her guards saying she was taking the day off," Mapp explained with a sigh. "And she left me a voice message saying she'd be back by tomorrow morning and not to worry about her."

"What the hell's she playin' at?"

"I have no idea. She said she wanted to make some calls."

"Calls? Why can't she make calls at home?" Vale sounded worried. "You know, where there are guards and no cannibals."

"I don't know," Mapp sighed again, palming the steering wheel in agitation. "I think it's about the baby."

Vale was silent for a few steps. She heard him push through the doors of the Drugs and Trafficking division and listened to his footsteps as he progressed through the bullpen.

"Do you think she's ok?"

"Ben, she's probably fine. I'm not gonna freak out unless I don't see that phone on her desk.

"Why would she leave her phone?"

"Oh, I don't know…"

Mapp fiddled with the leather stitching around her steering wheel. Why did Starling do anything? Because she wanted to was mainly the answer – or at least it seemed so, nowadays. After all, she was keeping the child of a rapist cannibal on a 'feeling'.

"Do you want me to go and see if I can track her down?"

"Please, don't worry about it, Ben. If she don't wanna be found, it's best to let her be."

Mapp could hear Vale fumbling with the keys to Starling's office door. Mapp had cut him an extra set, in secret, back when Starling had first gone back to work – back when Mapp had been worried about her friend's state of mental health.

"So is leaving her phone like a message for you, or somethin'?"

Mapp rolled her eyes again.

"No. It's jus' Starling being paranoid."

"The FBI geek-squad can track you down in seconds on these new phones – through the GPS or somthin'." Mapp had been surprised when Starling had told her this. Starling was as un-technology-friendly as people came. "Anyway, she always used to dump the phone at the office if she didn't want to be followed. It's just her thing."

"Bit of a fool thing to do."

"Tell me about it…"

The noise of a door being opened and more footsteps.

"I mean, what is she gets in trouble – ah-ha!" Vale's voice turned triumphant. "Got it; one FBI standard telecommunication device!"

Mapp breathed a sigh of relief. She had known Starling was okay, but it was good to know for definite.

"Thanks Vale. I really appreciate it."

"S'no problem, Dee. Anytime."

"I am gonna kick her pregnant ass when she gets back, you know."

Vale chuckled.

Mapp was gathering herself to go back on the road. She had turned the keys in her ignition and the rental car sprung to life underneath her. She was ready to go, and yet she couldn't quite bring herself to end the call. #

"So…" Vale's voice, over the phone, sounded slightly nervous.

Mapp smiled to herself.

"So what?"

"So here's the thing…" he began.

Mapp shifted in the driver's seat, palming the steering wheel anxiously. She hated conversations that started with 'so here's the thing'. What was this? Was this about them – or the almost-them that had happened back before Christmas, on the night of the Lecter escape?

"…there's this girl I kind of like," Vale began, slowly, "but she's off flyin' all over the country."

A grin split Mapp's lips.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I kind of miss her a bit, so I was wonderin' if you could possibly call me tonight and we could talk." His voice was low. He sounded good. "You know, jus' so I don't pine myself to death or anything."

Mapp laughed.

"This girl good lookin'?"

Vale blew out a heavy breath down the line.

"Damn fine woman, if you ask me."

Another chuckle.

"Hmmm… right answer, Ben, right answer."

"So you gonna call me tonight?"

He sounded nervous. Mapp felt her lips twitch into a smile.

"Yeah, I suppose I could pull the boat out for a friend in need. Seein' as you're pining after that girl of yours."

"Well I'm hoping she's my girl, but I never really heard her say it before."

In the car, Mapp's smile widened.

"You should ask her – if she's your girl, I mean."

"I should?"

"Definitely. Take her out to dinner and buy her flowers – that sort of mushy shit that girls like."

"I don' know, I was thinking of taking her to the shooting range, for our next date. You know…"

She could feel him smiling again.

"…Show off my prowess with a weapon and all."

Mapp snorted.

"She'd whip your ass."

His turn to laugh.

"Yeah, well maybe it's not such a good idea – what with us having to be a big secret and all."

He obviously hadn't meant it as a dig, but Mapp felt a twinge of guilt anyway. It had been her who suggested they keep their blossoming relationship on the down-low. It avoided any attention from their bosses. Strictly speaking, they weren't doing anything wrong. They were no longer partners – although Mapp was due to consult, with him, on the Lecter hunt next week – so there were no rules about not being together. However, the FBI executives were on the warpath. The slightest hint of the un-professional and their heads would roll faster than Starling out of a FBI fundraiser.

"You know," Mapp sighed to herself. "I bet your girl wishes you didn't have to be a secret."

She heard Vale smile on the other end of the line; a soft exhale of breath, followed by a parting of lips.

"I know."

"We all got our secrets, Benedict. We have to, to survive in this game."

"I know, Dee. I get it… doesn't mean I have to like it."

There was a moments quiet.

"Well, I miss you but I'd better let you go." He cleared his throat. "Wouldn't be cool to get you in trouble, for being late."

Though her body ached to say 'don't go', Mapp held her tongue.

"I hear it's gonna be a hell of a bust this afternoon."

"Sure is."

"So you be careful, all right?"

Normally, Mapp would have cited some stuff about sexism in the workplace and why should he think she was less capable than other agents – but his request was tinged with shy anxiety and she was touched.

"Don't worry about me. I've got my team and Warrick's got my back."

"Okay."

Silence on Vale's end of the line. His words had still sounded nervous.

"Hey," Mapp smiled. "You jus' make sure you call me tonight. I'll tell you about the raid and you can tell me all about that good lookin' girl of yours."

A quiet laugh.

"Speak later."

"Bye."

Mapp hung on the phone for a second or two, and then firmly pressed the end call button. In the silence after the call had ended, she wondered when exactly she had turned into someone who phone-flirted. Never in all of her years of long-distance relationship with Charlie had they phone-flirted. Shaking her head, Mapp put the car into gear and cruised out from the lay-by. Picking up speed, she turned the nose towards Miami and pulled out onto the highway. The repetitive rush and noise of the concrete lulled her slowly back to reality. As the adrenaline faded from her system, she turned her attention to the task at hand. She had work to do.

.

Back at the FBI building, Vale had decided not to get out of Starling's comfortable desk chair. After all, he had a key and the office was just sitting here, unused. He could access the network up here as easily as he could have down in his own computer.

Vale made himself at home. He took off his jacket and propped his feet on a pile of old telephone directories. He made himself a cup of coffee from the machine in the corner. He was just rooting around in the back of her desk drawer for sugar packets, when his fingers came across something strange. Right at the back of Starling's desk drawer, where the wood should have been flush with the back, there was a narrow gap. Inquisitive by nature, and having watched far too many Bond films for his own good, Vale had to investigate.

Carefully, he insinuated his fingernail into the gap, gave a gentle pull.

"Damn!"

The panel gave way, pulling out towards him and revealing a hidden compartment, just large enough to store a thick manila envelope. Vale sat upright in his chair, coffee and its sugar long forgotten. He pulled the envelope out of the drawer and sat it on the table and then – glancing quickly over to the door, just in case anyone was passing by – he began to investigate it.

The top was not sealed, so he pulled it gently open, and slipped one hand inside. What he found was two FBI files, a few newspaper clippings and what looked like an evidence bag, with a small computer chip inside it.

Vale's frowned.

"What the hell, Starling?"

As he leafed through the papers, he began to spot a trend. All of them – bar a small section at the back, about a recent drugs bust – were about Ianto Mendez.

Vale's frown deepened.

A nagging thought was beginning to prod at the back of his mind – a thought which had been residing there for a while, though he had always denied it. As he read on, through the papers and the files, turning over photocopies of bank statements and receipts, the thought began to grow. Did Starling have new information on the Mendez case? No, why would she keep that from him – and from the rest of the team? That would not only be un-ethical, but highly illegal.

Placing the papers to one side, Vale's picked up the plastic evidence bag. There was a familiar case number on the top label – Mendez again. He frowned. This was logged evidence. It should be down in lock-up!

He reached for the phone.

"Hi. Yeah, this is Special Agent Benedict Vale calling to request the status of some evidence we have, on the Mendez case."

A bored female voice answered him.

"You got your number?"

"Uh, yes ma'am." He smoothed out the plastic baggie. "I have it hear."

He read the number aloud and waited while the throaty woman on the other end of the phone typed it into her database. After about a minute, she coughed and came back to the line.

"We have number 302-C2 logged in and available."

"You have that piece logged in?"

"Yes," the voice grew a little annoyed. "I said we did didn't I?"

"Can you just check it again?" Vale grimaced. "To be sure?"

A wait, whilst the woman on the other end of the line tapped into her computer.

"Definitely logged in. If you want it, you're gonna have to come down here, though. It's on a current case – no removal without a signed slip from your super."

"No, just needed to know where it was. Uh, thank you for your time, ma'am."

Vale replaced the receiver to its cradle, his frown deepening.

The thought which had been festering inside was blossoming forth into other thoughts – each as accusatory as the next. Why would Starling keep back information on the Mendez case? And what the hell did she think she was playing at, keeping logged evidence in her desk drawer? It was almost like she was covering something up. And what was that damned computer chip anyway?

Mind spinning, Vale turned back to the papers and began to flip through them again. He soon forgot about the background checks he had been assigned to perform, for his superior agent upstairs. The afternoon slipped away as he went from paper to paper, double-checking information and deciphering Starling's scribbled notes in the margins. By the time five o' clock came around, Vale was more confused and conflicted than ever. He had so many questions – so many things he needed to ask her before he could make sense of what he had just learned. As if to taunt him, Starling's cell phone sat on the desk next to him; silent and unhelpful.

Vale sat back in the chair and ran his hands through his close-cropped hair. He had a decision to make – a decision which could well cost Starling her position in the Bureau. He sat and stared at Starling's files, as the night drew in. The clock outside ticked over to ten. He had a decision to make.

.


	50. Chapter 50

_Chapter 50 – Burn after reading_

.

Somewhere far north of the FBI's Hoover building, deep in the forests of New York, two men were arriving at the door of a small farmhouse cottage. To call it a cottage would be a slight understatement, for although it was shaped like one, its dimensions were far more grand. Nestled on the edge of a thick woodland, on a slight rise, it was well secluded. There was not a neighbour in sight and they were miles from the nearest town. In fact, it took nearly twenty minutes to get to the cottage, from any major road. The isolation suited the two men. The two men had a vested interest in not being found.

The first man to enter the small cottage was dressed in grey; grey parka jacket, dark blue-grey jeans, and grey snow boots. His face, half obscured by a scarf and zipped-up collar, was dusted with tiny ice crystals. Its cold outside, but he does not feel it. Unlike his companion, he was born in a land of snow.

Behind him, a younger, broader man stepped into the house. He coughed heavily, rubbing together his large hands.

"Damn. It's cold out." He clapped his hands together again.

Hannibal Lecter did not reply, but moved further into the house, pulling the scarf free from around his chin. His cheeks were flushed red with their exertions. It had taken them nearly ten minutes to wade through the snow, from the track that served as a driveway.

"So this is your house?"

Mendez was insufferably fond of polite conversation. Even three weeks of Lecter pointedly ignoring him had not dulled his enthusiasm. Given the chance, he would talk about the weather, the football, the traffic, his gastric activities – anything which allowed him to move his lips and create noise. Lecter was fairly close to the end of his tether. It was one thing spending time with people who had something interesting to say. It was quite another to be stuck babysitting one of Starling's lambs – and a dull lamb at that.

"Agent Starling took out a short-term lease on the house." Lecter pulled off his hat. "I believe we have it for another month, should you need it."

The young Mexican was busily stomping his boots to free of snow and rubbing his hands together.

"Where are your gloves?" Lecter asked, exasperatedly.

The Mexican produced them from his pockets and waved them at him, before rolling his eyes.

"Well wear them, next time. I don't have the facilities to deal with frostbite."

"Fine." Mendez muttered, sulkily.

It was like dealing with a teenager.

Biting his lip and muttering his internal mantra – that it would all be over soon – the Doctor moved past him, into the house.

Treading carefully across the slightly worn hardwood floor, Lecter scanned for any signs of intruders. There were no marks to indicate that anyone had entered the place, after Clarice, but it was in his best interests to check. Telling Mendez to stay in the doorway, the Doctor performed a quick sweep of the house. It was empty, as he expected. The ground floor consisted of a living room, a dining room, a kitchen and a bathroom. Upstairs, there were three small rooms, and another bathroom. As he explored, he ran his fingers over everything, feeling the cracks in the wood and the cold brass of door handles. Texture was one of the things he missed most about the outside world. In prison, everything was concrete, plastic and steel; most unforgiving.

The rooms were small, but comfortable, each containing a bed, a built-in wardrobe and a desk. The largest room had a window facing the front and the approach road. Lecter removed his jacket and lay it over the bed. He would sleep here, facing any potential attackers. Born in snow and blood, he had learned early the advantage of never turning one's back.

"Senor?"

Lecter stiffened in surprise, head whipping around to fix on Mendez, who stood in the doorway to the room, behind him.

"I told you to stay downstairs."

"I was cold. Does this house have hot air?"

"Central heating," the Doctor reached inside his pocket, withdrawing a letter from Clarice which he had found inside the glove compartment of their getaway vehicle, "can be found in the utility room, beside the kitchen. Flick the red switch up." He looked up at Mendez. "And when I tell you to stay somewhere, in future, please do it."

Mendez nodded, sheepishly, and left.

The Doctor turned back to the window. He should have heard Mendez coming. Weariness was making his guard lax. With a sigh, he ran his hands over his skull. The prickly texture of it was slightly alarming. He hadn't been this closely shorn since his previous escape, but – to his and Clarice's knowledge – there were no photographs on FBI files of him sporting such a look. It served as another layer of protection.

He walked over to the bed and tested it with one hand. The mattress was firm and comfortable enough. The sheets, stacked neatly beside the pillows, were clean and plain. The Doctor longed to curl up in them, but knew he should get a more accurate reading of his surroundings first. Never turn your back – never fall asleep; that is when the things you love are taken from you.

Such a cynic, he thought, smiling wryly to himself. But with good reason.

He made his way around the shelves and cupboards, taking stock of their contents. Clarice had been generous. There were jackets, shirts, t-shirts and a variety of trousers. Stationary, socks and underwear were in the bedside table, along with a laptop computer, which looked brand new. Lecter pulled the laptop from its place in the drawer and opened the screen. It was already configured for use. Flicking the wireless internet switch, at the side, he was surprised to discover an internet network up and running.

"Well, haven't you been busy, little Starling…"

A few more clicks and he established that the connection was fibreoptic. Expensive, but reliable, fast, and – best of all – requiring no phone line. Lecter smiled.

"That's my girl…"

He minimized the screen and his smiled widened further at the background. Gil the yellow retriever dog, legs in the air and coat tangled with leaves. From what little Lecter remembered of Starling's Arlington home, the photograph appeared to be taken in the back yard. A pair of sneakers blurrily marked the top edge of the frame. Starling's? Or, was she the one shooting?

Lecter clicked on the internet icon and scanned the day's headlines, on several news sites. Then, satisfied with the spread of his media coverage, he closed the laptop, and went to investigate the rest of the top floor.

He chose the smaller of the two remaining bedrooms, for Mendez, as it was farthest from the stairway and could be most easily guarded. In the other room, he pulled the bed to one side. It would do for a study, or for storage. He wouldn't be here long; a week, maximum. But Mendez would probably have to stay longer – depending on Clarice's plans and whether they came to fruition. He might need the space.

By the time Lecter got back downstairs, his companion had turned the heating on, lit a fire in the grate, and was lounging on a sofa, flicking through the TV channels.

"I see you've made yourself at home."

Lecter eyed the wrappers of several candy bars sitting on the coffee table, next to Mendez's feet.

"We have cable!" the young man pointed, delighted, at the screen.

"Aren't we lucky people." the Doctor replied, dryly, as he made his way through to the kitchen.

A thorough search of the cupboards yielded nothing palatable and a note (unsigned, of course, but obvious in origin) saying '_I bought plenty of frozen dinners… I know how much you love them_'. The Doctor reminded himself not to be too grateful, when he next encountered his mischievous lover.

The fridge was empty, with a print-out sheet of a grocery delivery service, listing account numbers, ect. The account was under the name of a 'Virgil Barker'. Lecter rolled his eyes.

"How long will Agent Starling be getting here?" Mendez called, from the next room.

"I imagine within the next week or so."

"A week?" Mendez appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, in his socks, looking distressed. "Why will she take so long? I need her to find information – she promised to help me."

"I'm afraid you shall have to speak to Agent Starling about that."

The Doctor returned to his investigation of the drawers, systematically checking their contents. The top one contained leaflets and ordering menus. The second one contained cutlery. Lecter ran his fingers over the handles of a brand new knife set.

"But you can call her, yes – get her to come here sooner?"

Mendez slipped up to Lecter's elbow and fixed him with a pleading stare.

Lecter, running his hands across the handles of the kitchen knives, looked slowly around. Perhaps sensing imminent danger, Mendez withdrew slightly.

"Please…"

The Doctor sighed.

"I cannot get in contact with her any more than you can. I apologise. That is the way it is."

"But we've already been moving around for three weeks!"

"Agent Starling will come when it is safe. Surely your revenge is not worth her risking her life?"

Mendez fixed him with a shrewd glare.

"You know, I don't think you care that I am innocent."

"No… not particularly." Lecter sighed, looking back to the knife drawer. The blade of a cheese knife ran sharp beneath his finger-pad. Oh, so easy, it would be…. So easy, so quick…

"You do not believe in justice?" The young man asked, indignantly.

Lecter closed the drawer with a slam, causing his companion to jump.

"I believe that your justice is of secondary important, to Clarice Starling's life."

"Justice is never secondary!"

The young Mexican's eyes were lit with anger. So much of the time, Victor Mendez appeared confused and harmless. It was hard to reconcile this man with the one he had led through the ventilation system at the MCAC; the man who had wept with fear of being caught.

"You are angry because your love's life is endangered?" Mendez continued. "Think how angry I am, that mine is gone and I am forced to help a guilty man run free, just to find who did it to her!"

A beat passed in silence.

"Well, I do apologise for endangering your moral integrity." Lecter made to walk away, but Mendez stepped forwards into his path.

Face-to-face, Mendez was about an inch taller, and several inches broader. His initial anger had given him courage, but after a moment of staring each other down, the Mexican shied away.

"Please move."

Mendez complied, sluggishly, and Lecter pushed past, over to the other side of the kitchen.

Still acutely aware of the younger man's eyes on him, Lecter checked through the rest of the cupboards and under the sink, where he found a manila folder. The movements were to calm himself. He really did not want to break his word to Starling. He really wanted to keep his word, and for Mendez to remain alive. Focussing his mind, Lecter picked up the folder from under the sink and began to leaf through it, studiously ignoring his companion's narrowed eyes.

The kitchen remained silent for almost a minute, save the turning of pages and Mendez's heavy breathing. Then the Mexican gave a snort of derision.

"You know what, screw you, man."

He stormed off, swiping a basket from the counter as he went. The keys and change that had laid in the basket spilled out across the floor, tinkling against each other loudly. Mendez paused for a second – as if deliberating whether to go back and pick them up – then stomped off back to the living room. Moments later, the TV came back on, volume up high.

Lecter returned to his folder of notes. Starling had provided blueprints of the house and grounds, marking out where she had laid security trip-wires and the like. His girl was extremely efficient. The last page of the book had a small handwritten note from Starling.

'_Memorise this then do what you do best.'_

Lecter smiled to himself. Do what he did best. Burn after reading, remove any evidence – it was a personal joke. He was always tasked with destroying their paper trails when they moved to a new location. Starling had come back one evening and found him stoking a bonfire on their lawn. She had called him old-school. He had called her beautiful. They had sat and watched the flames lick the sky, then had sex to the heat of the smouldering embers.

The Doctor folded the note and put it in his pocket, then put the notebook back inside the folder. He would read it again tonight and destroy it in the morning. If the FBI ever tracked them here, Starling's involvement would be erased.

He sighed.

Being parted from her had proved more unpleasant than he had imagined. Confined and parted was one thing – but to be free in the world and unable to go to her, it burned. He burned with anger and frustration. A part of him knew he was taking this anger and frustration out on Mendez. He could not bring himself to care, however. He was charged with keeping Mendez alive – not keeping him happy.

Lecter walked back to the stairs, without looking through at Mendez or acknowledging his presence. Every ounce of his body just wanted to walk back out the door and walk down the track to the driveway. He wanted to get back in the car and drive straight back south to Arlington and break into her house and carry her to her bed and stay there.

Pushing his frustrations aside, the Doctor climbed the stairs and wandered down the hall to his room. Closing and locking the door, he made his way over to his bed and sat. The mattress was firm against his legs. The sheets were soft, perhaps Egyptian cotton. He ran them through his fingertips as he thought. _Clarice_… He wanted to see her again, to touch her skin, smell and taste her. Right now, even just hearing her voice would suffice.

His eyes fell on the pillow. There was a satellite phone under there, but that did not help him. He did not know the number of her satellite phone. She would have to call him first.

"Clarice, Clarice, Clarice…"

Muttering her name to himself, like a prayer, he lay back on the bed, let his weary muscles relax, and slept.

He slept for longer than he had planned to. At some point, he kicked off his shoes and clothes, huddling down amongst the sheets and quilts Starling had left for him. They smelt, ever-so-faintly of her. It is what you did with infant animals – mused Lecter, as he drifted in and out of consciousness – wrap them in something that smells familiar and they fall straight to sleep. The sleep was deep and dreamless, the sort of sleep which only physical exhaustion can produce. The Doctor did not rise as the sun fell below the horizon, or as Mendez clattered around in the kitchen, making food. He did not even stir when Mendez stomped upstairs to his own bedroom, pausing outside of Lecter's door on the way and listening for a minute.

He remained in his warm cocoon for nearly five hours, before he was woken by an unfamiliar noise. For the first ten seconds or so, he could not determine where it was coming from. It was an odd buzzing sort of noise – something electrical, perhaps. He writhed around in his bed sheets, trying to right himself, then eventually made sense of the situation. His hand followed the noise and folded itself around the satellite phone. It was vibrating.

The Doctor sat bolt upright. The background screen of the phone was flashing orange. A number scrolled across the screen – not known to him, of course, but who else would be calling? Lecter pulled himself into an upright position. Starling was the only one with this number. Eyes still bleary from sleep, he hurried to press the answer button and raised the phone to his ear.

The line crackled for a moment. No one spoke. Then-

"H?"

For the first time in more than a month, his lips parted into a smile.

"Hello Clarice."

.


	51. Chapter 51

_A/N - thank you to all who are still reading, and a special thanks to those who have reviewed. You are all wonderful. _

_._

_Chapter 51 – A fool's promise_

.

A yawn was on Special Agent Clarice Starling's lips, as she stepped into the elevator. She was tired. Yesterday had been a long day – long, yet not unpleasant. She had spent it curled up in a hotel bed, wrapped in sheets with a phone to her ear.

The calls she had made were to a variety of people. Two were to a lawyer in Philadelphia, who had represented Kade Woodley during his small contribution to the Mendez case. One call was to a company who sold the computer system to Senator Woodley's DC office. Her first calls were all business. Her final call was to a house in west New York, to an old friend.

Starling sighed. It had been so good to hear him again and to be assured that everything was okay. Despite the intricacy of her planning, she had still been nervous, until she had heard his voice. But the plan had been a success. The escape had gone more smoothly than she could ever have hoped. Hannibal was safe. He was safe and holed up in the New York house, with his young companion who – by the sound of it – he was getting quite sick of.

Starling's lips curved into a smile. She had known that Mendez would get on Lecter's nerves, from the first time she had met him.

Around her, people were stepping on and off the elevator at their desired levels. The Hoover building's elevators were busiest at the beginning of the day, such as now. There were men and women in black suits and white shirts, with shined shoes and faraway looks in their eyes. They all seemed to be concentrating on something else. Starling looked between them and wondered what she would have to do to draw their attention. Stripping down and playing the trumpet seemed about the right level of ridiculous.

Starling sniggered aloud to herself, at the thought. Nobody noticed.

The elevator doors pinged and a sudden efflux of staff carried Starling to the front. She spotted Vale standing just outside, in the corridor. His eyes swept the crowd, searching, and then they fixed on her. Starling dithered for a moment. She could probably escape if she ran fast...

"Clarice!"

Too late.

She smiled at her colleague and stepped out, narrowly avoiding a woman in an unattractive peach suit, who was watching her pregnancy bump as if it might be contagious.

"Good morning, Agent Vale."

Vale raised one hand in greeting, a thin manila file in its clutches. His eyes were very serious.

"Agent Starling."

Vale paused for a moment before continuing. It looked, to Starling, as if he were trying to prevent himself from blurting something out loud. Motioning for her to follow him, Vale turned and headed back down the hall to the bull pen.

"Busy morning." Starling commented lightly, as they made their way through swathes of agents.

"Suspected lead on Lecter." Vale replied, voice clipped with what Starling expected was weariness. He looked exhausted. "Turned out to be a red herring."

The house in Toronto, thought Starling, as they made their way to Vale's desk, at the back of the room. She had set it up weeks ago, to throw them off the trail – not that there was any trail to throw off. She and Hannibal had been most careful.

"Anything useful?"

"Local PD ran the place up in Toronto, but it had been cleared out long before they arrived." Vale sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "If it was his, he hid it well. The trail is colder than my great aunt Hilda."

"My condolences about your great aunt." Starling quipped, with a smirk.

Vale threw her a dark look and Starling focused her attention elsewhere. She was aware that her good humour was not shared by her companion, but yesterday had put her in such a good mood...

Her colleague tore his eyes away from her and, muttering something under his breath, searched across his desk.

"What ya lookin' for?" Starling asked, trying to make idle conversation. Vale seemed tense.

"Phone."

She selected it from where it had been hiding under an upended copy of a legal textbook.

"Here ya go."

He took the phone carefully from her hand and turned it over in his own a few times, not quite meeting her gaze. Then he cleared his throat and faced her.

"Clarice, we need to talk. Can we go to your office?"

His tone had not lightened and it was finally beginning to worry Starling. She had the knowing feeling in her stomach that something was wrong.

At first she had thought he was tired, from a night spent in the office, but now it felt like more. His body was tense and there was a strange darkness in his eyes; anger that seemed to be directed at her, rather than work. Surely he couldn't have been that pissed about her dodging her police escort? Ardelia could complain like the best of them, but why would he ask to go to her office to talk about that?

Starling felt her breath cool in her chest. What had Vale discovered while she was away?

"Sure, uh, lets go to my office." Starling straightened her shirt over her bump and looked about herself, suddenly uneasy. "I need to pick up my phone and a few files anyway, before heading home."

Vale nodded curtly and began to avoid her gaze again.

"I took the day off to get some space," Starling explained – aware that she was making excuses, but being quite unable to stop herself. "I was planning to head home, work from there today."

Vale did not answer again, just nod and quicken his pace along the hall.

Starling led the way. Her good mood of earlier was vanishing. The unease was growing in concert with the sound of their footsteps; loud and clear against the cheap laminate flooring. As they came to stand outside her office, Starling reached into her pocket for the key and Vale finally spoke.

"It's open." His eyes were dark, his expression guarded. "I tried it earlier. You must have left it open."

Starling's heart began to beat faster. The sick bitter taste of exposure crept into her throat.

"I'm pretty sure I locked it..."

She had not left her door open. She was almost positive she had not. But - Starling reminded herself – even if it had left it open, there was nothing to worry about. She never left any files relating to her private work in plain sight. The only file she dared to keep in the FBI office was hidden safely within her desk, in a trick drawer. No one would find it unless they were searching.

...but what if they were searching?

"I definitely locked it." Starling repeated, her hand on the door key within her jacket pocket, her mind on treason.

"Well, it was open." Vale replied.

Their gaze held for another ten seconds, then she wrenched hers away. Dropping the key back into her pocket, she closed her fingers around the door handle and twisted it. The door opened easily at a push and she entered the room. It looked exactly as it had when she left. The papers were arranged neatly across her desk. There was a stack of files behind the left chair leg, which were in the same order and at the same height. Atop them sat a stone paperweight – a lion – which was facing the same way. There was nothing that showed any sign that another person had entered the room.

Starling walked over to her desk and touched the edge of the drawers subtly, before turning back to her colleague. Nothing was disturbed. Surely her secret was safe and she was just being paranoid. Vale's bad mood had to be because of something else.

She almost jumped as her colleague slammed the door shut.

"I can't believe you!" When he turned, Vale's eyes were guarded no more, but alive with anger. "I looked up to you – trusted you!"

Starling felt her throat close slightly.

"Benedict," she swallowed, "I have no idea what you-."

"Bullshit!" Vale threw the file back down on the table and slammed a fist on top of it. "This is the file on Victor Mendez. That name ringin' any bells?"

Starling blinked thrice.

She was not being paranoid. He had found the file. He knew. He knew she knew about Mendez's true identity. He knew that she had obstructed the course of justice and withheld information pertinent to an ongoing investigation. That alone was enough to have her arrested! Starling tried to collect herself, to slow her breathing and control her heart rate. She must remain calm if she was to get through this. She couldn't run. She was standing in the lion's den – no more than fifty feet from the team of FBI agents working on Lecter's recapture. No, she couldn't run. She must remain calm. Words were the only way out of this.

"Benedict, I can explain."

Vale snorted.

"Explain? I was kinda hoping you would – seeing as you seem to know things about Mendez that no one else seems to. Why the hell would you keep this from us, Starling? Where the hell did you get this kind of information, in the first place?"

"Why don't you sit down" Starling motioned towards the spare seat.

"I don't think so – not until you tell me what's going on!"

"Benedi-."

"Don' Benedict me!" He shouted it with such fury that Starling flinched and stepped back. "You were my colleague and my friend – if you were half decent at either, you would have told me!"

In the silence that followed, Vale caught his breath and Starling cleared her throat. Slowly she moved around to her side of the desk and sat down heavily. Her knees were shaking slightly, with the sudden rush of adrenaline.

"You should have told me." Vale repeated, still pacing towards the door and back again, as if deciding whether or not to walk out it. "Why were you withholding evidence? You should have told me, Clarice!"

"I was going to."

"Bullshit." He snarled, throwing her an ugly look.

Starling looked away, her chest heavy with an emotion she had not expected; shame.

"...I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise – jus' explain to me what the hell you thought you were doing." Vale ran his hand distractedly through his short hair. "Witholding this is practically a cover-up. You've perverted the course of justice. You know, until the 1990's what you're doing was considered a capital offence!"

Starling shook her head, thoughts running like wild. What was she to say? She could hardly protest her innocence, but she could hardly tell him the whole truth. To give herself time to think, she pulled the file marked 'Victor Mendez' across the table and began to leaf through it. As she flipped over a photograph of Mendez as a younger man, an idea began to form in her mind.

"I can explain, Vale."

"Well by all means, do it" he snapped.

"You have to promise that I can trust you." She spoke quietly.

Vale gave a short humourless laugh.

"Why should I?" He shrugged and sat down in the seat, leaning forwards on the table. "Why should I keep anything you say a secret? It's treason, Starling. They would throw away the key!"

"He told me."

"What?"

"He told me. It wasn't my idea to go diggin' any further into all this. I stopped picking the case apart when he went down – jus' like you told me to." She sighed and pushed the file back towards Vale. "But then when I went to serve his appeal papers, Mendez told me that his real name was Victor."

"Why didn't you write it in the report?" asked Vale, his voice heavy with exasperation.

"I wanted to see if it had any merit before I went runnin' to the Director or to Hodgins." She paused, for dramatic effect. "I wasn't gonna be the Agent who got suckered by two serial killers."

Vale's eye gave a twitch as she played the pity card.

"Anyway," Starling continued, with another clear of her throat. "I was lookin' at his extended family, checking up on his story, and I found more than I bargained for."

"What?"

"...I found proof that Mendez is innocent."

Vale exploded into a stream of profanities.

"For God's sake, Starling, we've been through this more times than I remember!"

"But I have proof this time." She leant forwards over the desk, so that they were no more than a foot apart. "I have proof, but I can't do anything about it, because the man who _did_ kill Gabriella Woodley is involved in the goddamn investigation!"

Vale's lips parted, tirade silenced with surprise.

"Hang on. Who're you talkin' about?"

"Woodley." She explained, in a heavy breath. "It was Woodley."

"I'm sorry. Senator Kade Woodley?"

Starling nodded.

Vale looked about himself, as if he was expecting people to jump out from behind her desk and in her closet and shout 'surprise'. There was a crooked half-smile on his face, and an expression which read disbelief.

"I'm sorry, the grieving widower is actually the killer?"

"You know nine times out of ten it's the husband."

"That applies to a regular homicide, Starling. And besides, he has an alibi – and witnesses put Mendez at the scene, covered in blood!"

"Well he was at the scene, wasn't he? He found the body." Starling countered, throwing her arms wide in desperation. "Vale, you've gotta trust me, I've run every scenario through my head and Mendez just doesn't fit. I've even got proof that it wasn't his car at the crime scene."

Vale narrowed his eyes.

"They proved he was there, in court. The GPS off the SatNav put the SUV Mendez was driving at the house at the estimated time of death."

"No." Starling raised one hand. "They checked _a_ SatNav they _found_ in Mendez's household SUV." She smiled. "I checked the serial numbers of the device they have in evidence and the number on the dashboard mount it should fit into, from the SUV. Now, if they were purchased in a set, their last four digits on the product numbers would be the same – but they don't match up. The SatNav they found in Mendez's car is not the right one. They were switched-out."

Vale stared.

"I'm sorry, that's all we're goin' on? A switched-out SatNav and a convicted serial killer's confession?"

"All we have to go on?" Starling gave an exasperated sigh. "The _facts_ say that one of the company SUVs, with the SatNav attached, was at the house at the time of Gabriella Woodley's death. Now, there are four SUVs registered to Woodley's household. The other two guys – and their SUVs – have airtight alibis. That leaves the SUV Woodley was in and the SUV Mendez was in."

Vale looked like he was having major difficulties chewing these new facts over.

"But what about Woodley's alibi? He was at the office, with his political advisor."

"I've met Woodley's political advisor, Vale, and I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

Starling's heart rate was beginning to return to normal as she argued her case.

"Of course, this is all circumstantial. None of it will stand up in court, yet." She bit her lip and then released it, feeling the throb as blood rushed to the area. "But I've got a plan, to get us something that will..."

Starling lifted her eyes from her folded hands and fixed them on her colleague's – hard. For a moment Vale looked confused, and then he read her pointed stare.

"Oh no," he shook his head vigorously. "No, no way! I am not gettin' involved in this." He jabbed a finger towards her "I have a meeting with Pearsall at eleven an' I'm bringing all this to the table. You can explain yourself to him."

There was a moment, then Starling nodded in agreement.

"You're right. We should explain that he is actually Victor Mendez."

"Yeah, so he can kick your butt to-," Vale paused, mid-sentence. "Hang on, a minute ago you were explaining to me why we can't tell Pearsall, now you're all for it?" He stared at her for a moment then laughed out loud. "You kept this secret for weeks...

_Months actually. _

...and now you're saying we should go to the director? Get your story straight!"

Starling looked up at her colleague. His face was awash with conflicting emotions and expressions (predominantly confusion and frustration). Starling could sympathise. She had months to prepare and she was still conflicted.

"I do want to go to the director, Starling repeated, slowly. "And I agree that we should tell Pearsall about Victor Mendez's true identity. But I think we should leave it at that, for now. We should tell him you found it in a check on Ianto Mendez's extended family."

"So you want me to leave out the part that Woodley killed her?" Vale was still shaking his head. "If he's really innocent, why hush it up?"

"Vale, think about it! We have no proof worth a damn in court. If Woodley finds out that we're onto him, he'll erase any evidence that's left and leave us with no chance of exonerating Mendez."

"So I'm supposed to go to the director and tell him we've come across new evidence – but that it means bull crap?"

"No." Starling leant back in her chair. "We tell him we've got a new line of inquiry. It gives us a legitimate reason to be poking around back in the Mendez case."

"Starling – this is insane!"

"Oh, you have no idea..."

She craned her neck back to stare up at the ceiling. Things were getting more insane by the minute. She had not planned on telling Vale. She had not planned on telling anyone. This had been her project, her vendetta. But now that she had told him, in a strange way it felt like relief.

A huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but all sorts of new weight had was quickly taking its place. This had not been part of the plan; a plan that, so far, she had not deviated from. Could she afford to do so now, so close to the end? Starling had no idea if she could trust Vale not to turn her in. What she had done was against every rule in the book and her partner was a straight arrow. On the other hand, she had been facing some logistics problems in gathering her evidence – logistics problems that Vale, being strong and not-pregnant, would be able to overcome.

Across the table, her partner was shaking his head, eyebrows knotted together in frustration.

"This is completely insane. If you're right – and I'm not sayin' I believe you – we sent an innocent man to jail and assisted in covering up the true killer."

"Yes..." Starling murmured, watching Vale's face shift and change with the dawning realisation.

"Damn, Clarice, if he hadn't escaped, he could have been put to death."

"Yes..."

Vale turned back to Starling.

"For all that is good, please tell me you had nothing to do with that."

"What?" she answered, a bit too quickly for her own liking.

"The escape, Mendez's escape." Vale leant across the table and tapped the spot on between her hands. "Tell me you had _nothing_ to do with the escape."

"Damn straight I didn't!"

Starling forced anger into her eyes. Anger was the only way he would believe her.

"Why in God's name would I help him break out? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Even if I was capable of breaking a man out of high-security – no, Supermax – prison, why would I? I am going to have the evidence to exonerate him within the month."

Vale stared her down.

"And why would I risk Lecter getting away in all the chaos?" she added, applying particular vehemence to her words. "Why would I ever want to risk letting _him_ free?"

A second or two passed, and then Vale looked sheepishly away. Starling did not blame him. After that outburst, she had almost convinced herself.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "I didn't mean... I didn't think before I said." He lifted his eyes to meet hers again and for the first time in the conversation, they were not hostile. "I'm sorry."

"You might not have thought, Vale, but that's all I've been doing for the past few weeks."

Starling stood and walked around to where Vale was sitting. She gripped his shoulder hard in her fingers and squeezed.

"I have thought and planned to within an inch of my life and I think I've figured it out. I've got a plan which could allow us to exonerate Mendez and bring the true killer to justice." She took a deep breath. "All I need is a little bit of help, from you."

Vale's eyes were flickering nervously about the desk before him. He didn't quite know what to do or believe. It was a lot to take in, in one conversation – especially for a man like Vale, who did not cope well with change.

Starling squeezed his shoulder again, coaxing him to look up.

"Benedict. I can't do this alone."

There passed a few beats of silence. Very faintly, they could hear the noise of the hallway outside – people coming and going – Agents reporting back to their superiors on the Lecter case. The office itself was quiet, except for the steady ticking of the clock above Starling's desk.

Underneath her hand, she felt Vale's shoulder tense.

"Okay. I get we can't outright accuse Woodley without evidence," he spoke slowly, with caution. "But can't we inform Pearsall we have a theory? We could build an undercover operation – this could all be done legitimately." He looked up, with such hope in his eyes.

Starling blinked. She forgot, sometimes, how young Vale was – how fresh he was to the world of FBI bureaucracy and corruption.

"No... no, Vale." She moved to sit on the edge of the desk, beside him. "You don't see. Woodley will have men planted all through the case team. Besides, he has Pearsall's ear."

"We could ask for a separate unit, just a few people-."

"Vale, d' ya think I haven't thought about all this?" she smiled, wryly. "Do ya think I haven't considered every last option? I tried to find a way that we could do this legitimately, but I couldn't."

Her hand sought out his arm, on the desk. His skin was warm. His eyes were still fixed on hers; full of brown naivety.

"Is there no way we can-."

"-I promised a man I would get him justice, Benedict."

Vale gave a half-smile.

"Bit of a fool promise, to a man on death row."

"Yeah, but I'm kind of like that."

Vale slid his hand across the desk to take hers – softly at first, then firmly in a handshake.

"Okay. I'm in." He stood. "But under two conditions."

Starling frowned.

"Okaaay..."

"Firstly," he fixed her with a solid stare. "You never, ever pull one of those disappearing stunts ever again. Vanishing over the hedge, turnin' your phone off and not tellin' anyone where you're going or when you'll be back; Ardelia was havin' kittens!"

Starling rolled her eyes.

"She was fine."

"Yeah, well you didn' have to deal with her 'fineness'."

"Okay, I won't disappear anywhere."

"My second condition..." Vale's grip on her hand tightened. "You tell me everything you have on Mendez, every bit of information on the case. And we do this proper – write it all up in reports, so when we do have the evidence, we don't go down for life for treason."

"Okay," Starling nodded, "deal."

"An' Clarice, I mean it. I don' wanna catch you lying to me."

"You won't..."

He let go of her hand and took a step backwards.

"If we're in this, we're in it together."

Starling looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. It was nine o'clock. She had two hours to fill Vale in on all of the details of the Mendez case – well, almost all the details. (She had decided it was prudent, for the time being, to leave out that she was in contact with Victor Mendez. This, after all, constituted aiding and abetting a known felon. She wasn't quite sure how Vale would take it).

Nine o'clock. Starling sighed. When she had woken this morning, to the soft of her hotel sheets and the plastic of the satellite phone against her cheek, she could not have imagined what lay ahead of her. The plan she had so solidly laid out was now uncertain. Vale knew about Mendez and she was not in it alone anymore. However, luck had not completely left her. She would have to be careful that Vale did not learn of her complicity in the escape – or her involvement with Lecter. But as high as the risks were high, the return was higher. Starling stood a much higher chance of accomplishing her goal with Vale on board.

"I'll come to the eleven o'clock meeting. We'll tell Pearsall together."

"Together."

He smiled and she echoed his movements.

They would exonerate Mendez, together. It was going to be okay, she told herself. Still, the nagging feeling did not leave Clarice Starling's stomach. Vale knew. The plan had changed and she was no longer so sure of it – and she needed to be, with what lay ahead. They were still a long way from their goal. Starling got the feeling that there would be many sleepless nights before she could fall asleep to Hannibal's voice again.

Pulling her mind away from her lover, she focussed it back on the task at hand.

"Sit down." She advised, with a weary sigh. "We'd better get to work."


	52. Chapter 52

_Chapter 52 – Surveillance _

.

Since Vale and Starling had gone to Assistant Director Pearsall, with the information on Mendez's true identity, Starling had not made any significant progress in obtaining the information to exonerate him. It was more frustrating than she ever could have imagined, working with a partner – or, more specifically, working with a partner who did not know the whole story.

Starling had to be careful to avoid certain aspects of the truth. She had to be careful not implicate herself in Mendez's escape, or reveal that she was in contact with him. She had to come up with alternate stories for how she had come by some of her information. Some of the information she had to miss out altogether, because there was no explanation other than the strictly illegal. And, in addition to these problems, there was the ever-present risk that he should discover any link between her and Hannibal Lecter – who, like it or not, was stuck in all of this, up to his neck.

Starling had talked to the Doctor the afternoon after Vale had found out, and apprised him of the situation. She had talked to Mendez and told him that they now had help – an ex-marine, who was going to help them obtain justice. Mendez had been enthusiastic, but Lecter had gone silent on the other end of the line. Starling understood his reservations. Involving Vale in their plan was dangerous. He was one more uncontrollable variable. Something he might do could prevent her from being able to come home to Hannibal. But it was not something she could change. As she had told her lover, she would just have to do the best she could.

And Vale was not the only added complication. Pearsall was breathing down their necks on the official Mendez case. The information that Ianto Mendez was really Victor Mendez had incited hope in the team. Agents were working double-shifts, chasing down any information on Victor Mendez that could tell them where he was hiding. They suspected a break in the case was right around the corner. Starling felt guilty, watching them slog away hours and hundreds of dollars of company time on something that would never come to fruition. But she reminded herself, it was for the greater good.

They could not catch Woodley through the FBI. The senator had requested one of his men be put inside the team, to keep him up-to-date on what was happening. Any information the FBI team had, Woodley had. If he got the slightest inkling that they were onto him, any evidence he was holding onto would be destroyed. Starling sat back against the headrest of Vale's old pickup truck, a frown creasing her forehead with worry. Woodley was a powerful man. And dangerous.

She and Vale were currently parked just around the corner from the Senator's DC residence. It was a beautiful building, fronted in impressive grey stone. The entrance to the property was through a double gate in the wrought iron fence. It was guarded by a small security booth, which housed two men and enough firepower to secure a small country. Cameras were dotted all over the property and its manicured grounds. The system was good and it ran like clockwork. But luck had thrown them one thing; there were no dogs.

Starling smiled grimly. Systems they could get around. Systems were predictable.

"Damn." Vale muttered, from the seat next to her. "This place is ridiculous."

He was watching the house through a pair of night-vision binoculars, elbows resting on the steering wheel. It was dark and they were parked far enough away as not to arouse suspicion. The car lights were off. The glare of the street lamps on the windscreen was enough to obscure them from view, should someone be paying particular attention, which Starling was sure they would not be. The senator was not in residence, tonight. He had left, earlier that afternoon, for a week of public speaking appointments along the upper east coast.

"Have you seen his pool?" Vale snorted. "Who has a pool in DC?"

Starling hummed in agreement and rubbed her hands together. With the engine off, there was no way of heating the old pickup. It was freezing inside, despite the many layers they were both wearing.

"So..." Vale eventually lowered his binoculars and looked over. "This is the only way in? Over the top?"

"On the west-side. It'll work." Starling assured him. She had been over the plan a million times – worked out the timings down the second. "If you stick with the plan, it will work."

"I trust you," Vale assured her, though his voice was still slightly worried. "Jus' sayin', if we get caught, the whole game's up. Woodley gets sight of any of this and any evidence that's still around will be gone like a fart on the wind."

"Charming."

"And true."

She beckoned for the binoculars and took a turn, checking that none of the cameras along the roof terrace had been moved. It was important that they remained at the same angles she had planned for.

"It's all as it should be." She handed the binoculars back. "It'll work."

Vale sighed and fiddled with the lens caps.

"Listen, I know you don't feel comfortable doing this. Neither do I." Understatement of the year. "But we need that disk drive. It's what got Gabriella Woodley killed and it will tell us why." Starling pulled her parka tighter around her, against the cold. "When I talked to Mendez, he said she found something about his new campaign. There were financial ties to some pretty dodgy guys and the data drive could prove it. All of Woodley's campaign details were on that drive. Gabriella was going to bring it to Woodley – to ask if he knew what was going on."

"But it turned out he was in on it..." Vale shook his head, with a sigh. "What I don't get it why she didn't go straight to the police."

"At the time, she didn't know he was involved." Starling shrugged. "Maybe she thought it was something he could deal with without the police. Maybe she thought they could protect the campaign from such a scandal by handling it in-house. Maybe she thought that he wouldn't hurt his own wife."

"Bad call."

"Hmm."

Starling reached into her bag and pulled out a box of animal crackers, which she opened with difficulty. Her numb fingers refused to grasp at the cold cardboard.

"If she was going to run off with Mendez, why would she care about his campaign?" Vale asked, stowing the infrared binoculars in his oversized coat.

"No idea." Starling shrugged. "I mean, Mendez says she was running off with him, but..."

"But who would leave all this, right?" Vale gestured up to the house, with its sprawling gardens.

"Yeah..."

Starling looked up at the house again. Even under cover of darkness, its size was imposing. The lights in the guards booth was on and she could see the figures moving around. They would not be hard to get past. They were well trained – they watched the cameras like hawks – but they only did a patrol once an hour. As long as he followed the path and timings Starling had provided, Vale would be in and out without them knowing.

Beside her, Vale stretched in his seat.

"Hey, we should get back soon, I told Dee I would come by for supper."

Popping an animal cracker into her mouth, Starling glanced sideways at her partner, suppressing a smile.

"You two still going good?" She was slightly surprised Vale had brought it up. Up until now, they had been so secretive about the whole thing.

"We're good, yeah." Vale looked slightly uncomfortable. There was a pinkness to his cheeks which could have been more than the cold. "Just takin' it slow. She's a good woman."

There was a pause.

"Kissed her yet?"

"Fucksake, Starling!" He fussed around, searching through his pocket for his keys. "Not much of your business, is it?"

She chuckled.

"Not much."

Vale remained silent as he continued to search his pockets. Starling crunched her way through two more animal crackers, dissecting them delicately with her teeth; legs first, then head, body last.

"So, what base you guys reached?" Looking sideways, she tried to catch his eye with a grin.

He ignored her.

"One?" she suggested.

Vale continued to stare straight ahead as he removed the keys from his pocket.

"Two?"

Still nothing. He slid one key into the ignition.

"Three?"

His lips tug upwards into a smirk and he glanced sideways.

"Shut up, Starling."

"So not third base then?"

"What kind of girl do ya think Dee is?" he asked, indignantly. "We've only been on, like, four dates."

"Second, then?"

"Shut up, Starling!"

Despite the tone he was still grinning.

Starling popped another cracker in with a sigh.

"Okay. Shuttin' up."

"Why're ya so damn interested, anyway?"

"She's my friend." Starling said. "Besides, I don't have my own sex life. Gotta get my kicks somewhere."

There was another, much more uncomfortable, pause.

"That's jus'..." Vale shook his head, looking back out front once more. The pinkness on his cheeks was definitely not because of the cold, as it had travelled all the way along to his ears. "Thanks, Starling, thanks a lot for that thought."

Starling chuckled again and turned her attentions back to the house.

"So," she brushed her gloved hands free of animal cracker crumbs and stowed the empty box in the back seat. "We're good here? You're not gonna freak out tomorrow?"

"No." Vale shook his head – serious now the situation demanded it. "You do your part and I'll do mine."

"And you think we can make it through the blind-spot in under thirty seconds?"

Vale raised an eyebrow.

"I can. I don't know why you're saying 'we'. Your pregnant ass is gonna be out here, in the car."

"And in your ear." She reminded him. "I'm your way through those cameras and motion sensors. You gotta be listening."

Vale looked over his shoulder, at the laptop and other equipment she had piled in the back seat of the pickup.

"I don't wanna ask, Clarice, but how did you get all that stuff?"

"Signed it out." Starling answered Vale's question with a smile. "...Mostly."

Indeed, most of it was requisitioned from the FBI, signed out for the Drugs and trafficking department. It would be weeks before the paperwork flagged up and even longer before they managed to track it back to her – by which time they would have their evidence, Mendez would be exonerated and Starling would be long gone. The rest of the equipment, Starling had obtained from a man known as 'Jem'. Jem, short for Jeremiah Hollard, was a degenerate thief, who had worked his way across the FBI's radar several times before. Starling had got in contact with him a while back, through some old friends in DC's considerable black market for security information. Jem was doing well for himself. He had even agreed to give Starling some stuff for half-price, for old time's sake.

Vale's eyes lingered on Starling after she had answered. The trust which their relationship used been instilled with was now under a great deal of strain. That said, he was dealing better than she could have hoped. He had not once threatened to shoot her. Not yet, anyway.

"Okay, let's head off."

Starling's partner turned the key in the ignition, having to repeat the action twice before the engine finally growled into life.

"We'll bring the Mustang tomorrow," Starling told him, as they slid out onto the quiet street. "Just in case we need a quick getaway."

.


	53. Chapter 53

_Chapter 53 – What we do_

.

They arrived back at the duplex just in time to see Mapp pulling into the driveway. She was back late, after a hard day, and looked frazzled. Nonetheless, she insisted on cooking them dinner, as promised.

"It'll relax me, honest." She insisted, shooing the pair of them inside to the kitchen and enlisting Starling's help to cut the vegetables – an unwise move, as Starling's girth prevented full movement, in the confined kitchen space. Within minutes, she was told to go relax somewhere and they'd call her when it was done. As Starling left the room, she could not help but smile at the pair of them, arguing over the diced vegetables like an old married couple. Whatever base Mapp and Vale were at, she was pretty sure they were going to be fine.

It was nice, thought Starling, as she made her way back to her side of the house. It was nice that Mapp finally had someone besides her. It would make her feel a whole lot better when she was driving away.

Starling turned the heating on and threw herself down across the bedspread of her old iron-framed bed. The sheets were cold. She had never quite figured out how to get the central heating to switch-on on a timer. She had never much bothered about coming back to a cold house before, but now her back was aching and her feet were sore. Pregnancy was a bitch. After considering a bath – then vetoing the idea on the grounds that it involved both time and effort – Starling threw off her clothes, pulled on a pair of pyjama shorts, and crawled into bed. Wrapping herself in the six layers of quilts and blankets, she wriggled around until she was comfortable, then let out a heavy sigh.

She was not tired. Her nerves, over what she and Vale were going to do tomorrow, would not allow her to sleep. Their actions were punishable by prison time. If they were caught, it would prevent her from being with Hannibal. But she could not just leave. For once, she had the power to see justice done. And she had made a promise to Mendez, without whom the Doctor would never have escaped. She owed him, she could not just leave.

Starling turned her head sideways on her pillow and gazed out the window. The yard was deep in snow. January night's ink-blue skies were streaked with paler clouds. Mapp's car was in the driveway, its rusting bumper just visible above the snow banks Starling had shovelled up early that morning. She had nearly broken her back doing it. As her cocoon of bed sheets became warmed by her body, Starling began to relax. Her stomach was complaining slightly, but she did not want to intrude on her friends' dinner together. They would have precious little time to spend together in the coming weeks.

With her head turned to the window, she lay completely still, letting her mind wander over her plans for tomorrow night – picking them apart and putting them together over and over again, just in case there were any flaws. She found none. Starling was still thinking through the plans when there was a knock at the door.

"Hey."

Mapp's head appeared around the doorframe.

"You hungry? Food's up!"

Starling hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head with a smile.

"Sorry, girl, it's nothing personal, but I'm just feelin' a bit nauseous. Think I'll sit this one out."

Mapp looked worried.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, just don't feel like eatin' right now. How about you keep a plate for me?"

Mapp paused, and then nodded.

"Okay, if you're sure..."

"I'm fine."

She faked a yawn.

"Think I'll have an early night. I'm exhausted."

There were footsteps in the hall, and then Vale's face appeared beside Mapp's.

"You comin'?" he asked.

"Nah, she's going to get some sleep." Mapp placed one arm on his shoulder, turning him back. "Let's leave her to it."

Starling smiled at the hidden intimacy of the movement, the way her fingers gripped then released his skin. It was something Mapp had not even noticed she did, yet. It was something you didn't notice until you couldn't do it anymore. Then you missed those little moments like hell.

Another fake yawn induced a hasty retreat from her two friends. She bid them goodnight as they disappeared into the hallway, but neither of them replied. They were lost in conversation and each other's eyes. Starling felt a pang of longing that had nothing to do with her stomach.

She rolled over to gaze out the window. Outside, darkness was drawing across the snow, painting it in shades of blue. Rubbing her eyes, she burrowed deeper into her quilt and pulled her fleecy blanket up to her chin. There was laughter from the kitchen, and the sounds of pots and pans being banged around. The tinkling of Gil's dog tags in the hallway told her that he would be joining Mapp and Vale tonight. No matter, she thought, slipping her hand into the crack between her headboard and her mattress. She could find other ways of entertainment.

Between the headboard and the mattress was a satellite phone. That satellite phone was the one connection she had left with the Doctor. Starling's hand closed around it and drew it forth from its hiding place. The phone's shell was bright yellow, with rubber grips around the edge. Its small screen was blank. Starling inserted a fingernail into the button at the top and pressed. The backlight came up – a dull green.

No missed calls.

She smiled. Not surprising, as nobody but her lover had this number.

Turning the phone over, she situated herself more comfortably against her pillows and began to press through the menu. She had no missed calls and no messages. There was only one number in the directory – that of the satellite phone's counterpart. That phone was up in New York, in the house Lecter and Mendez were staying at.

Starling tapped the screen three times, indecisively, before pressing call.

"Come on, H... be awake..."

The phone line rang five times, and then clicked over to a standard voicemail message. Starling hung up and waited a moment, before trying again.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up."

The phone rang twice, and then the line snapped with static. Starling heard the voice on the other end breathe in, and then speak huskily.

"Mmm... hello?"

"Hello yourself, stranger."

Her lover gave a resonant hum in response.

"You sleepin'?"

"Ahh..." a yawn, "was. I _was_ sleeping."

Starling chuckled and fisted her toes into the bedspread.

"I needed to talk to you."

She heard him sit up in bed and the rustling of sheets.

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine."

Starling slipped her free hand under her shirt, across the hard rise of her abdomen. Her skin felt stretched beyond belief. Her navel was beginning to protrude with the pressure pushing it from within. Inside her – faint but present – was the ever-stirring form of her unborn child.

"Nothing is wrong?" he sounded slightly unconvinced.

"Safe and sound, here." Starling smiled to herself. "Apart from the fact that I have kicking fetus inside of me and I'm starving, but I can't go next door because I think my housemate might be about to get her freak on with my partner."

Lecter breathed quietly down the line.

"Anyway, it's your fault I'm full of baby and need to pee all the time, so I thought I'd call and complain – since you're not here to complain to."

There was a pause, and then the Doctor spoke.

"I miss you in unimaginable ways, Clarice Starling, and if there was any way I could be with you right now I would be. But if you woke me up to tell me you need to pee, I am going to have to hang up on you."

She laughed. The tension of the day had finally been broken. Just hearing his voice had caused her muscles to relax across her shoulders. Already, the pain in her lower back did not seem to hurt so bad.

"Oh come on, H, I called because I missed you. I just wanted to hear your voice. Is that so bad?"

There was a burst of laughter from the kitchen, reminding Starling that sound travelled far in the duplex. She lowered her voice – just in case – as she continued the conversation.

"Virgil says hi, by the way. He's mooching food, but he'll come runnin' back after they're finished."

She could feel Hannibal smile. He held his silence, however.

"So are you gonna say anything or jus' sit there, doing your mystery thing?"

"I think I'm going to sit here doing my mystery thing." His voice was playful, lilting.

"I knew I could count on you to be good conversation."

Another deep chuckle.

His laughter caused her heart to skip momentarily faster.

"How's life on the lam?"

"Thrilling."

"And Mendez?"

"Thriving." He paused briefly, and then added "What are you wearing?"

Starling raised an eyebrow. His tone had caused all sorts of tensions to seize her body. They were different tensions to the tensions of the day; far more pleasant aches. However, they were aches she really did not want to deal with, right now.

"H..." she laughed, wryly. "This is so not that sort of call."

"No, but it has potential."

She traced another circle around her belly, to distract herself from the heat in his voice. She really wasn't prepared for that sort of call. There were other people in the house. Admittedly, they were more likely to go to Mapp's bedroom than hers, but she couldn't take any chances... much as she wanted to.

"If I said I was covered from head to toe, would that dissuade you at all?" she asked, trying to lighten the conversation.

"No." He admitted, with a mischievous edge to his voice. "But I have a fairly active imagination."

Starling felt the tension grow between her legs, across the top of her pubic bone – places she had not seen first-hand in a good couple of weeks. Pregnancy hormones meant she was horny for twenty of the twenty-four hours in a day. Logistics meant she couldn't do a lot about it, anymore – at least not easily.

"Well your imagination will have to keep you, for now." She muttered and cleared her throat.

He chuckled.

"And how is yours keeping you..?"

Starling squirmed. The skin across her chest felt suddenly prickly with heat.

"I nearly dislocated my shoulder two weeks ago, trying to reach around my belly to 'help myself out'."

There was a pause of a second or two, before he began to snigger.

"Oh shut up." She narrowed her eyes. "It wasn't funny, it hurt."

His sniggering devolved into muffled hisses of mirth.

"Shut it, H, it wasn't funny!"

"Clarice-."

The phone crackled as he flipped over onto his stomach – she knew he was on his stomach, because the phone dragged against the sheets as he raised it to his ear.

"I miss you, Clarice, every inch of you. And if I were there, I would help you in ways you could not even begin to imagine."

Starling cleared her throat. Suddenly, her body felt like something that did not quite belong to her. It heated, her heart raced faster; responding to his voice so much stronger than to her own thoughts of warning. Starling licked at her lip and reprimanded herself. Mapp and Vale were only a couple of rooms away...

"Clarice, will you do something for me?"

"No!"

"Trust me,"

"Why, because you're a Doctor?"

A chuckle.

"Yes." He paused. "And because even if they do walk in without knocking – there is nothing wrong with a woman fucking herself."

Starling licked at her lip again.

"Can't."

"Can so..."

"Won't, then."

"Oh but you will... You'll wrap the edge of your sheets around themselves and thread them between your legs and – lying on your side – you might just thank me sometime."

Starling's hand had slid from her belly to the crease where her leg met her body. She toyed with the skin just below her hip, breathing slow and steady as she listened to her lover's voice deepen on the other end of the line.

"Or roll over and thank me. Let gravity work, you never need your hands when you work on me."

"Fuck it, Hannibal," Starling forced her voice to keep to a whisper, though she could hear music playing next door. "That's different and you know it."

"Your body wants sensation, Clarice, not intimacy. You don't need my skin."

"You say that," she whispered, "but you have no idea how much my body wants your skin."

Another sigh, deeper than the last, reached her ears.

"The feeling is mutual, Clarice."

They were both silent for a minute.

Somewhere deeper in the duplex, Starling heard Mapp's loud music up in tempo. The thundering beat of the bass line fell in and out of time with her heartbeat. She swallowed and rolled from one side to another. The movements did little to lessen the tension. Then, in a decisive moment, Starling pushed her body to one side and slid out of bed.

"Hang on a sec."

She set the phone down on her sheets then, swinging her legs over the edge, she sat up. Righting her heavy body, she stretched, stood and walked to the door. She stood there for a second, listening to the dark house, before closing the door and locking it. The wood muffled the throb of music, but her heart continued to thunder in her chest.

"Okay," she walked back over to the bed, relieved herself of first her pants then her shirt. "You win."

"I do?" he sounded pleasantly surprised.

"You wanted phone sex, you're getting phone sex."

She lay her body down to the bed and threaded her bed sheets into her hand. A smile drew across her lips.

"Mindfuck me, H."

"With pleasure, Clarice."

.

Over on the other side of the house, Vale and Mapp stood across from each other, in the dark of her bedroom. The soft blue light from outside lit the lines of their bodies. They stood across from her. She was naked except for her panties. He was wearing trousers and a single sock. The cold of the room had pricked their skin with goosebumps.

"Okay." He was more nervous than she was. Then again, she had done this a few more times than he had. Came with the nine extra years she had on him.

Nine extra years hadn't affected her body any, though. She was as lean as he was and in fine form. As they stood across from each other, he blew out a heavy breath. She was beautiful and he had waited so long for this.

"You okay?"

"Of course I'm okay." He cleared his throat. "I just, you know, don't wanna fuck this up."

"Shut up."

She closed the distance between them and reached up to touch his cheek. Her fingers were warm.

"Please shut up. We are standin' practically naked across from each other and it's taken us more than half a year to get here." She laughed, and her teeth were so white in the darkness. The muscles in her belly jerked in time with her laughter. "We don't need to talk right now. We're good." Her smile twitched then widened. "You won't fuck this up."

"Yeah," he exhaled loudly, "that's what you think." He grimaced. "But you're really hot and I've not done this in a while and... you're really hot."

She laughed again, tilting her head back to kiss him. He kissed her back. They were almost the same height and it was easy. It was easy to brush his finger against her cheek and easy for them to stumble backwards to the bed. They stumbled a bit more, awkwardly pulling off their remaining clothes and wrestling each other back onto the sheets.

They were both young and the only limitations were their inhibitions. As their strong bodies fought to meet each other in some sort of rhythm, Vale found himself looking down at her in awe, still unable to believe that the soft cries she elicited were for him; that she was for him. But she was. As she locked her leg around his – her calf muscle hardening them softening as she helped to rock them – she told him she was. She said it first in a whisper, then against his neck. Her lips left faint wet patches on his skin that shone in the moonlit room. The cold of the air did not bother them now, as they created heat through movement.

It wasn't delicate or smooth and there was no finesse, to speak of. As they pushed and pulled at each other's bodies, they slipped and missed. It wasn't great sex, by any definition of great sex. It didn't last very long and there was a lot more sweat than should have been required. But, as they lay semi-sprawled over each other afterwards, they both agreed it had been a general success.

"That worked."

"Yeah." Mapp nodded. "That worked."

"We work good."

"Yeah."

They both panted for a moment.

"...We'll get better."

Mapp nodded.

"Yeah."

For a while, both of them just lay there and tried to catch their breath, then Vale started laughing, which started her laughing and pretty soon the both of them were shaking with mirth. It was one of those moments that you had to be in to understand.

Mapp rolled over on her side, hand wrapped around her ribs.

"We'll get better." Vale repeated, rolling after her and wrapping his arm around her side – pulling her to him, for a kiss. "We're amazing, so we're gonna have amazing sex."

She giggled again.

"Hells yeah we are." She pulled back to look at him and smiled. "We're amazing..." she kissed him again, a brush across the lips. "We're amazing."

.

On the other side of the duplex, Starling dropped back against her pillows, chest heaving.

"Shit, Hannibal..." She turned her head to the side, panting hard against the receiver of the satellite phone. "Holy shit, my heart might be about to explode."

Leaning back, she let her body go limp, her back fall back out of a curve into the soft of the pillows. One of her knees was still in tremor. The skin across her chest was flushed red, with her dilated blood vessels. Her heart beneath her chest was beating at nearly one hundred beats a minute. Her body was still in shock from the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"This cannot be good for the baby... is this okay for the baby?"

"Its fine..." the voice on the other end of the phone was breathless too. "Its fine, the foetal heart rate will increase with yours. Its normal..." he paused, to pant. "It will slow with yours too."

She smiled.

"Good." Arching her neck back, she tried to release the muscles which were cramping there. "Ah..." she cleared her throat again, and panted. "Damn we are good... like, amazing kinds of good."

He chuckled.

"You make me extremely happy... you know that, right?"

"You destroy me." He whispered back, and she heard him turn over in bed. "Utterly. My life was simple, before you."

She closed her eyes, listening to him breathing heavily, wondering if the sheen of sweat he always got – down the centre of his chest – was there. She wondered what his eyes looked like and if they were dilated to near-black. She loved them that way, they looked bottomless. Starling let her breath come out of her chest hard, wondering if the tremor in her thigh would stop eventually, or if he had mindfucked her broken. It was bound to happen, one of these days.

"We are very, very good at what we do." She told him again, with a smile. Her eyes were still closed and she could hear the pulse of her carotid arteries in her ears. It was like rushing water.

"Well, we have abundant practice."

Starling laughed.

"I miss you." She whispered confidentially, through the darkness of the room around her. "It kind of comes in waves. I forget that I do and then it's there again."

And the tears came quite unexpectedly.

She did not sob loudly, vainly trying to keep them hidden from the man on the other end of the line. It was probably the hormones and adrenaline, she reasoned, as she silently wiped them free of her cheeks. Starling had never been the type to cry on front of a man – or anyone, in fact. She cried by herself, always.

He let her cry, giving herself almost a full minute before making his whispered reply.

"I'm here."

It was not pity, or anything like it. It was just a statement. And the statement carried love and a strange protective edge she had never heard before. Hannibal the lover, Hannibal the father; a man no one else would ever see. There was latent power in his words, a threat against anything or anyone which would harm his partner and the mother of his child. _His child._

Her muscles felt like liquid.

Starling swallowed and seized her ragged breathing, breaking it down until she could inhale easily again. The throbbing tightness began to fade from her chest and throat, and then the tears were gone, as quickly as they had come. It had been like a strange passing rain shower. The cloud that had caused them was still there, but the shower had lightened its load, for the time being. Inside her chest, her heart was starting to slow back to its regular beat. The tremor in her knee had stopped.

"You gave me numb toes." The feeling was only beginning to come back to them, as her heart beat slowed.

He laughed softly over the line.

"My apologies."

"Mmm... no, never apologise." She wiped the remaining wetness from her cheeks.

A sigh reached her ears.

"Not long now, little Starling, and then you shall fly free again."

"Not long now." She smiled.

The night outside was darker than before; that deep black of winter midnight. The snow still glowed softly in the light from the moon, but the moon had momentarily slid behind some trees. Starling sighed as she let her eyes wash over the scene. Everything was so quiet – as if held in stasis.

"We move in on Woodley tomorrow. Me and Vale staked the place out today."

He had told her he was not interested in her little project, but she could not help herself. It had been clawing at her stomach, waiting to rip out of her since she had picked up the phone to call him.

"I think we're ready..."

"If you are Clarice Starling, then you have over-analysed the plan dozens of times and are prepared for every contingency." He smiled (she could feel it). "If you are Clarice Starling, you are ready."

"I am."

"Then all I can do is leave you to get a good night of sleep. You need to be well-rested."

Starling cleared her throat and nodded to herself. He was right. She did need to get to sleep. But the thought of putting the phone down made her stomach twist as though someone had plunged a knife deep inside it.

"Uh, I'm not going to put the phone down. So, it's gonna have to be you."

"I know." He paused for a couple of heart beats, and Starling heard him close and open his mouth twice. "I won't wish you good luck." He said, eventually. "If you are Clarice Starling, then you will not need it."

She smiled.

"All my love, my dear... fight hard." He whispered, and then the line cut to static.

In the silence that followed, Starling sat for a second, half expecting to cry again, but no tears came. She eventually sat up and rearranged her twisted bed clothes, then pulled on some pyjamas before padding through to the bathroom to get a drink. As she passed the door to the kitchen, she saw that the lights were on, but the table was empty. She could distantly hear voices on the Mapp's side of the house, but they held no interest for her tonight. Drink fetched, Starling returned to her bed and made herself comfortable in it. Lying on her back was no longer an option so she rolled onto her side, wedging her pregnant belly into place with pillows. Then, gazing out the window at the moonlit snow, she let her mind begin to relax.

The Doctor was right, she needed her rest. She did not want to be counting on luck, tomorrow evening. Burrowing her head deeper into her pillows, she covered her ears, until the world was silent.

_Tonight, she would sleep. Tomorrow, she would fight. And soon, they would be free. _

Comforted by the mantra, Starling closed her eyes and let herself drift slowly away.


	54. Chapter 54

_Chapter 54 – No tomorrow_

.

The night was fast approaching and, for the second day in a row, Vale and Starling found themselves parked around the corner from Senator Woodley's DC house. Tonight, however, there was no light-hearted banter. They sat silent in Starling's Mustang, the equipment they would need turned on and ready. Vale was dressed in his old army fatigues, dark grey to avoid detection. Both agents wore earpieces. Starling was doing some last minute calibrations of her infrared.

"This is it, then."

Vale tried not to sound nervous, though he knew he had every right to be. This was not, as he kept telling himself, just another mission. This was an unsanctioned, unapproved, illegal anti-government-official mission. They were practically terrorists. If they were caught they would go to prison, for a very long time. Never mind his job and his freedom, he would also lose the woman he had spent the past year pursuing. Vale was pretty sure Ardelia Mapp was not one to visit a lover in his prison cell – no matter the reasons behind his crimes.

He swallowed back the nerves, however, because he had to. He had to be strong for Starling tonight because she looked on the edge of breaking. The facade she always wore – that mask of control and composure – was under a lot of strain tonight. He knew she had doubts, about the legitimacy of their actions, but he needed her to be working at her best tonight. He needed her to guide him through the Senator's nest of motion sensors and infrared cameras. His future lay in her hands. She was the only thing between him and getting caught. So, he was going to sound like he wasn't nervous, because that's what she needed him to be.

"This is it." She replied, nodding solidly. "You ready?"

"Yup."

"We go over in five."

Vale eyed the wall he was about to scale. It would be difficult, but he could do it. He had done the same before, in the field. He had done worse.

"Everything up and running as it should be?"

"Systems are solid..." Starling frowned, flicking through her many screens and lists. "I have everything. We just need to synchronise." She held out her watch.

"On the hour?"

It was coming up for seven o' clock; two hours before the guard's shift change. It was the end of the day for them, and they would be at their most sloppy.

"On the hour."

The two Agents poised over their watches, eyes on the laptop computer's clock. It clicked over – 19.00 – and they pressed.

"Okay. You'd better get out there. Position near the wall and wait for my signal."

"Okay."

"Earpiece good?"

Vale nodded, tapping the small plastic device moulded into his outer ear.

"As good as it was last time you checked."

"Okay..." Starling looked away again, back at the screens. "Then we're good to go."

"Rolling?"

"Rolling." She shot him a grin. "Let's do this."

He slipped out of the car, with a 'good luck' in her direction – despite her earlier claims, that they needed no such thing. Making his way over to the wall, Vale stuck to the shadows. In his dark fatigues, he was near to invisible. The street lamp above them was dark, as was the one across the street. Starling had seen to them earlier in the evening, driving past in his pickup truck. Vale counted out the seconds inside his head. Ten, twenty, thirty...

"Okay, go."

He threw the hooked claw over the top of the wall and listened until he heard it catch. Tugging the rope, he felt it go taut. His climbing aid was solid. Producing two short, thick splints of metal, he thrust them into the softer mortar, between the stones. They dug into the wall, forming perfect footholds. Giving one last tug at the rope, he glanced over his shoulder, at Starling in the car. She nodded, and he heard her voice in his ear.

"Ready. You have five seconds to the top, pause for ten, then over in fifteen. I need you on the ground, with the rope away."

He nodded.

"Go" Starling whispered.

Launching himself at the wall, he scaled its face with brute power he had not used since his days in the Corps. His shoulders were still strong and the footholds held firm as he levered himself up to the top. He clung there, waiting, counting off the seconds in his head. One, five, ten...

"Go." Starling's voice reminded him gently, in his ear.

He needed no second bidding. Grasping the lip of the wall in two hands, he pulled himself up and onto the surface and swivelled until he was lying belly down along it. He had used five seconds. He had ten more. Not five feet away, he could see the small black form of the security camera, swivelling around to face him. Nine seconds... eight seconds...

Freeing the grappling hook with one foot, he pulled the rope up from the outside of the wall and dropped it down to the ground on the inside. Then he followed it, sliding his body down first and hanging there, before dropping. The drop itself was almost ten feet and Vale winced as he did it, almost expecting to hear the crack of his leg bones as he made contact with the earth. He landed, uninjured, however, and quickly rolled away into the nearby undergrowth. Starling's voice in his ear piped up again.

"Safe?"

"Safe." He whispered back, pressing in the earpiece. "Continuing along the perimeter."

There was an eight foot gap in surveillance, along the far wall. This was the one weakness in the Woodley household security. It allowed Vale to reach a thick patch of shrubbery which bordered the pool. From there, he crept through the shadows, around the back of the pool house and up to the edge of the trimmed garden lawn.

"Okay, are you ready?"

Vale had finished counting off seconds in his head. That was Starling's job now. His was to run, as fast as possible.

"Camera seven is almost finished its sweep. You will have ten seconds to clear the distance to the tree."

Eyeing the tree – about fifty feet away across the cover bereft lawn – Vale could not quite imagine himself making it. It was going to be tight. He had said as much to Starling back in the car. An Olympic runner on a track would be fine, but he was running in kit, in the dark, on uneven and snowy terrain. To make matters worse, it had rained earlier in the afternoon and there was a thin but crunchy layer of ice atop the snow. His footsteps would be like canons in the quiet air.

"I've got you covered. Move on three."

She had it covered, he knew that, but it did not help his nerves. Those guards were armed and he was not, (as the charge of armed robbery being far greater than unarmed).

"One... two... go!"

"Shit..." he muttered, and threw himself out across the snowy yard.

Vale ran so hard his knees felt like they were going to break. He ran in an arc across the snow, thighs beginning to lose all feeling as he switched into the turn. Reaching the tree, he could not afford to slow down, so he caught it against the side of his body. Gripping with his fingers, he swung into its far side, just as Starling's voice sounded in his ear.

"You're out of cover."

"I'm through." Vale panted and clung to the far side of the tree. "I'm through…"

He could hear Starling exhale heavily.

"Okay, we're cutting this close, so listen carefully." She cleared her throat and Vale could hear her tapping at her keyboard. "To the porch in five, crouch by the pot plant for seven, then you're going to have to make the pass across the patio..." Starling paused. "We're gonna be out in the open, for that one, so it's all down to speed."

Vale nodded, from his position behind the tree.

"Okay... okay..."

"You've got twenty seconds before camera nine pans around. Hold tight."

"Okay..."

"And Vale?"

He swallowed.

"Yeah?"

"You're doin' good. Hang on in there."

Vale nodded again – though he knew she could not see him.

"Okay, let's move." Starling said.

Launching himself into motion again, Vale tore across to the porch, rolling into position alongside a large pot there. He sat, planted, as the voice in his ear counted to seven. Then, bunching his leg muscles, he kicked out again, propelling himself fast across the stone patio. His feet slapped loudly across the stone. The noise felt louder still in Vale's ears. He half expected the panic to kick in, but all of a sudden he was at the far side, flat against the wall of the house. Starling's voice in his ear told him that he had barely scraped the edge of the camera's surveillance.

"You did good, Vale, real good." She sounded relieved. "For now, I think we're in the clear."

"Where d'ya want me?"

"Uh, stay put for thirty seconds. I'm checking with camera six."

"Okay. Out."

The line in his ear beeped then went to static. Vale lay his head back against the back of Woodley's house. He was in this up to his neck. He shouldn't be in this up to his neck. Blowing a heavy breath out of pursed lips, he clenched his fists rhythmically, to keep his mind in check. Starling knew what she was doing. She had had this planned for months. They would be fine. They would get the evidence, and get out, and they would be fine.

Starling's voice came back over the line.

"Okay, you're heading up around the house, huggin' the wall 'till you get to the second window from the porch."

"Got it." He pressed himself up flat and began to shuffle fast around the edge of the building.

"And move it, marine, we don't have a lot of time..."

He did. Keeping tight to the woodwork, Vale shuffled around until he reached the second window. It was four foot or so off the ground, due to the uneven terrain, and edged with pale blue curtains. One look inside told Vale that it was the right room. He reached a hand up and felt along the sill. It was thick, sturdy enough to support his weight. Turning around, he placed both hands upon it and pulled himself up.

Getting his knee up onto the ledge was difficult, but he managed. Crouched on the ledge – just out of sight of the cameras, due to the corner of the house – Vale slid an odd device out of his pockets. One part of the device was obviously a glass cutter, but the other was a strange sort of plunger.

"It's tempered glass, so it'll shatter. We need the plunger to pull the shards out towards you." Starling reminded him.

"Okay chief, I got it."

Vale worked quickly, pulling the cutter around and knocking the shards away from the frame of the window. Once they were cleared away, he pulled a small box out and opened it. Powder. He blew it over the window frame. The first time, it fell to the ground, uselessly, but the second time it illuminated a red laser, just above the window sill.

"Have you illuminated the beam?"

"It's all good, Starling." He pulled himself parallel to the laser beam, orientating his body ready for the drop. "All good..."

Tensing his shoulders and back, he lifted one leg and extended it over the laser alarm beam. This had to go right. One slip up, one tiny break in the beam and they would be in over their heads with security officers, police and alarm bells. Vale took a deep breath, then swung his body over.

The floor was carpeted. He landed in a roll.

"Damn!" he grunted.

"What?"

"Nothin'." Vale shifted, stretching out his leg, which had cramped on impact. "I'm in. Jus' nearly killed myself doing it."

"Injured?"

"Negative."

Lifting his head, Vale scanned the room. The walls were blue-striped, to match the blue carpet. It seemed to be an office. There was a large mahogany desk over at the far wall, on front of which sat an ornate desk chair. The desk was littered with papers, a few old coffee mugs, a trophy or two, and a black phone. Vale turned his attention to the matching mahogany cabinet, on the opposite side of the room – the reputed position of Senator Woodley's safe.

"Heading in?"

"Head on in." She was shifting papers on her end of the comm. line. "And Vale, you've got thirty minutes, before they do a sweep of the grounds and find your window. I need you in and out before then."

"Will try my best, Agent Starling, but he does have cable… I might just be tempted to stop for a while."

Vale walked over and knelt beside the cabinet.

"…have a cold beer, catch the game…"

Opening the cabinet door revealed a fat metal safe, coloured green with a black brand printed across its face. Vale reached out and touched it lightly.

"Hey Starling," he spoke quietly, into the air. "I found the safe."

"Combination six – thirty five – twenty."

Gabriella Woodley had given Mendez the combination two days before she was killed. Starling's voice was steady as she read it, but she swallowed forcefully afterwards. The line crackled with static tension. Had Woodley changed the combination – would it work?

Vale twisted the knob to the number twenty and heard the tumblers click home.

"Thank fuck" he muttered, and then to Starling, "we're in."

She exhaled and swallowed again, over the line.

"Okay." Vale had never heard her sound so relieved. "Do you see it?"

He searched through the papers and files inside the safe. For a moment, panic filled him as he couldn't find it, and then his fingers closed over something hard and plastic.

"Got it." Vale pulled the hard disk drive from the inside of the safe, turning it over carefully in his hand to read the numbers imprinted there. "One terabyte information, solid state hard drive."

"Pretty." Starling was smiling – he could tell. "Let's bring her home."

Vale slid the drive into the front of his fatigues, zipping it in above his belt. It would be safe there, for his return to Starling. Unless, of course, he was shot in the chest – at which point he wouldn't really have to worry about it anymore.

Pushing this thought aside, Vale walked back over to the window.

"Okay, I'm ready to come back."

"I am..." Starling tapped at her computer "...almost ready for you. Just give me a second or two to calibrate the camera times."

He did, eyes sweeping the ground for any sign of movement. There was none. Their entry had gone completely unnoticed by the guards. The only risk now came in disturbing the laser on his way back out – or getting caught by the camera during his run back across the patio.

Vale bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. He had almost forgotten the adrenaline rush of a field mission. This was not combat, but it came a pretty close second when you were talking about nerves. He had not felt this terrified in years – of getting caught, of getting shot at. Vale hated getting shot at. He told Starling as much over the comm. line.

"Bad choice of career." She answered, simply.

He guessed she was right.

"Okay," Starling cleared her throat, back to business. "I've got you ready. Clear the alarm beam on the window and drop to the grass. When you're there, tap the earpiece and I'll give you a count."

"Okay."

"We'll count you through, same as the way in."

"Okay."

"You ready, marine?" her voice sounded, close in his ear.

Vale nodded to himself, taking a deep breath in and out.

"Ready."

.

They were out in less than ten minutes; Starling needn't have worried about the guard's patrol. By the time the security men walked the house and found the broken window, Starling and Vale were five miles away, heading onto the freeway. Vale was driving and they had the radio on. Starling had the black hard drive on her knee, with her hand laid across it. She was staring out the window with a distant expression on her face.

"You okay?" Vale asked, glancing over at her.

"What?"

Starling looked around, genuinely caught of her guard.

"You okay?" Vale repeated.

"Oh, yeah, fine."

She pulled a smile on quickly enough, but Vale could see the ghost of anxiety leaving her face.

"What's up?" he asked, because he knew Starling never volunteered information. You had to push her.

"Nothin'," she said again, waving her hand. "Just have a long way to go, yet."

"Well we've got the hard drive, right?" he gave her an encouraging smile. "That's got to be good."

"Yeah, now we only got to get the thing decrypted, find out where Woodley's financial Achilles heel is, find that and get a copy of it to the Director."

Vale turned his eyes back to the road, watching the white lane markers flash and disappear underneath his wheels as he changed lanes. He overtook a white sedan, and then slid back into the outside again.

"Guess we still have a bit to do then, huh?"

"Yup…"

His companion had turned her attention back out the window. She seemed somewhat disheartened.

"Come on, Starling, we'll get there."

"I know that. I don't need you to tell me."

"Seems like you do."

A moment or two passed.

"Well I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

"I'm just sore."

"Sore?" Vale snorted. "Fuck off sore, Starling, I'm sore! I had my ankles near broke jumping through that window. I busted my ass off jumping over walls and hiding from cameras and shit." he threw her a slightly bad-tempered look. "Don't be saying you're sore, now."

"I'm sore we have to be doing this at all."

"Wasn't it your idea to do this in the first place?"

Starling narrowed her eyes, but did not turn to face him.

"I mean, you knew the plan when you got into this. You wrote the plan." He pointed out. "So there's no point being sore about what we've got to do. What we've got to do is what's got to be done. This Woodley's guy's a wife-murdering ass-wipe and the Feds can't stop him, so we've got to. It's just how it goes." Vale shrugged to himself.

"Damn, Vale, you're more convinced over my cause than I am." She sounded slightly amused.

"Well someone's got to be. I agreed to help you on this because I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Semper fi…" Starling muttered darkly. "The corps must have loved you."

There was a gap in conversation, during which Vale tried not to take Starling's words too personally.

"Quit being such an ass, Starling, you're hungry and stressed out." Vale nodded towards the glovebox . "There's a can of coke and a snickers in the cubby. Eat something and stop bitching at me… I'm trying to drive."

Starling muttered something under her breath, but did as she was told. Pulling out the coke, she popped the top, and downed about half the can in a few mouthfuls. The snickers went in a similar fashion. A minute or so later, she offered what was rest of the can to Vale and he accepted.

They continued along the freeway in silence, until they passed the sign for Arlington.

"Dee's gonna ask you where we've been" Starling said, eventually breaking the awkward silence between them. "And where I'm heading off to."

"I'll tell her you're working late on the Mendez case. She's up to her ass on this drugs case, so I doubt she'll check up on you."

There was another pause, as Vale manipulated the car off the freeway and onto a slip road. The sign overhead read 'Arlington'. They drove silently down towards the sprawl of houses that was Starling's neighbourhood, watching the streetlamps as they flashed by.

"Sorry 'bout earlier." Starling murmured.

"It's no problem."

"I can be a bitch when I'm hungry."

"Yeah, you can."

The edge of her mouth twitched.

"I'll see you tomorrow when I get back from the hotel."

"You sure I can't come with you?"

Starling was off to meet a contact – someone she said could decrypt the hard drive and tell them where to look for Woodley's incriminating financial information. She refused to let Vale come with her to the hotel. She wouldn't even tell him which hotel it was, only that it was in DC. Her reason was that the source would spook. He was of skittish temperament, so Starling said, who would vanish at the slightest provocation. And then they would be in a whole heap of shit.

Vale did not know who this mysterious source was, though not from lack of asking. Starling said that she trusted him and that should be enough. How Starling knew so many people of the criminal underworld was beyond Vale. He guessed it was something that came with years of experience. The man who sold them the glass cutter was an old informant, from Starling's old job in drugs and trafficking. The man at the hotel was probably something similar.

"Well, I'll be right at the end of the phone, if you need me." He assured her, with a sigh.

Starling's expression softened slightly.

"I know, Benedict."

They pulled onto a side road, which lead to Starling and Mapp's duplex. Vale's companion let out a loud yawn and stretched in her seat. As they drove up to the house, she gathered her things; zipping up her coat and packing away the hard drive, in a bag she had stowed at her feet.

"I'll get along just fine on my own."

"You're nervous, though." He pointed out.

Starling's emotions had run pretty close to the surface tonight. At first, he had thought it was due to nerves about their breaking and entering mission. However, as the night had worn on and they had accomplished their mission successfully, he had realised that what she was really nervous about lay in the hotel across town (Vale was not sure which hotel, as Starling had pointedly neglected to tell him).

"Huh?" she frowned over at him, with false bravado. "What you talking about?"

"You're nervous to go over there."

"What – to the hotel?"

"Yeah, to the hotel, to see the computer guy."

Starling shook her head.

"Uh, well it's not because of the computer guy, believe me." Starling chuckled.

"Then what?"

She sighed.

"I'm nervous about a million little things, Benedict Vale." She shot him a smile. "Don't mean I need your help over there."

They had arrived at the duplex. Vale pulled the car up beside the driveway and parked. Beside him, Starling was staring out at the house. Vale followed her gaze. All the lights were out except for Ardelia's living room. Starling's housemate was probably waiting up for them. It was nine o' clock and Starling was usually long back by now, from work. She would be worried.

"You just go in, tell her I had to work late and that I'll see her tomorrow." Starling turned to face him with a mischievous smirk. "Do your thing, keep her happy."

Vale concentrated hard on not letting his cheeks blush.

"I'll tell her you'll call."

"Okay then, I'll call."

Starling slid out of the car and hoisted herself up. She was now fairly pregnant and required extensive manoeuvring to get pretty much anywhere. Vale handed her out her bag, which she slung over one shoulder. Then he hopped out the driver's seat, allowing her to walk around the Mustang's bevelled nose and take his place.

"You better call."

Shutting the door, she gave Vale a finger-wave. He watched as she backed the car up and turned in the street. As the Mustang's exhaust lit up the air with sound, Vale turned away, facing back at the house. The light to Ardelia's living room was still on and now he could see her silhouetted in the window frame.

Though he had got the good end of the deal, Vale could not help but wonder what Starling was getting up to, over at the hotel. He would call her later and see how it was going. Pushing his hands into his pockets to protect them against the cold, he headed up the driveway, past his truck – which he had parked there earlier – to the front door of the duplex.

Mapp answered on the second chime of the doorbell. Vale had never been so glad to see her face.

"You would not believe the day I just had."

She wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her waist. Her legs were naked underneath the gown. She was barefoot.

"You should come inside and tell me about it."

"I would…"

She raised an eyebrow.

"…but I'd have to kill you."

His girl's face split in a smile.

He walked into her arms and she kissed him. Then the pair disappeared inside, into the welcoming warmth of the small duplex. The light from the window pooled outside, lighting an orange square on the snow. And then they turned it off, and the only light came from the moon above.


	55. Chapter 55

_Chapter 55 – __Poor Investment_

.

Senator Kade Woodley was furious. It was one in the morning and he had just been woken by the sound of his cell phone ringing. Swearing loudly, he reached through the darkness for his phone. As his fingers closed around it, Woodley saw his security advisor's name flashing in the caller ID.

"Fuck off, Palden," he muttered to himself.

Then, with another curse, he raised the phone to his ear and pressed the call button.

"What?"

The late hour negated any need for diplomacy. Besides, the Senator did not pay Brian Palden to speak nice to him.

"Sir, my apologies for calling at such a late hour-."

"-Cut the crap, Palden, what do you want?" Woodley barked again.

"We have a situation." the Security advisor replied.

"I'm in my goddamn hotel room, Palden – what possible security situation is there in here?"

"Not with you, sir. It's the DC house, they've had a break-in."

Woodley sat upright in bed and switched the bedside lamp on.

"A break in?"

"A single intruder, unarmed."

"Did you get him?"

"That's a negative sir, the intruder, uh, escaped."

"Goddamn it!" Woodley spat. "Well, did you at least get a good look at him?"

"No, sir. We have no positive ID."

"Didn't the cameras get a shot of him? I spent a fucking fortune on the cameras!"

Palden cleared his throat.

"The intruder seemed to follow the blind spots through the property. He got in and out without a clear shot of his face."

There was a pause.

"Can someone do that? I mean, how could someone know that?"

"They must have had some sort of inside knowledge, sir. They entered directly through the office window, took what they wanted and left the same way. The operation appears to have been executed professionally."

"Did they even trip the alarms?"

"No alarms were tripped, sir."

"Well, what did they take? Jewels, electronics, other valuables..?"

"It seems they were after information."

"The bastards were after campaign secrets?"

"Sir, they took the hard disk drive from the safe in the office." Palden cleared his throat meaningfully.

Woodley shrugged, surprised by the thief's lack of audacity.

"That's all?"

"The one in the _office_, sir." Palden repeated.

"Was it expensive?"

His security advisor sighed.

"It's the one you had me store the financial data on, sir."

"Does that mean they have all my bank details?"

"That's not a problem, sir. I keep your account numbers separate, on the office computer."

"So what's the problem?"

The Senator was beginning to get annoyed that Palden had called him at all. Surely this could have waited until morning.

"The problem, sir, is that the disk contains all ingoing and outgoing payments related to the campaign. Everything is on that disk, sir…" Palden proceeded slowly. "Our 'poor investment' is listed on that account."

There was a moment where neither of them spoke. Woodley might not have been very involved in the financial aspects of his campaign, but he knew exactly what investment Palden was talking about. Alarm bells were beginning to ring in his head. Inside his chest, his heart pumped faster. His 'poor investment' was a simple mistake – a money transfer which had been mistakenly made from his own personal account. A money transfer which now linked Woodley to a local crime boss.

"Why the hell is _that_ on the disk?" he asked, voice low with threat.

"Sir, we discussed this. There is no way to erase such a transaction." Palden explained "Moving money leaves a paper trail, and-"

"-So what do we do?" the Senator cut him off.

He was gripping the hotel bed sheets tightly, his cheeks feeling suddenly hot. He wondered if he had blanched, like people did in the movies. Was his skin as white as sheet? Kade Woodley forced himself not to panic. The situation was reparable. After all, the disk did not contain his own account number. Any ties were only circumstantial…

"I've been in touch with local PD." Palden's voice pulled him back to reality. "I told them we had a false alarm at the house, that everything is fine."

"What do we do next?" Woodley asked. "Do we have any leads on the ID of the intruder?"

"There was nothing from the house cameras, but we had an idea." Palden cleared his throat again – a nervous habit. "We tapped your neighbor's CCTV footage for the time around the break-in, to try and find the intruder's escape vehicle. Unfortunately, we couldn't find where he parked - he must have been in another blind spot."

Woodley muttered darkly to himself.

"But," Palden continued, "we did pick out a vehicle - a pick-up truck - which had been spotted in the area three times over the last two days."

"Did you run the plates?"

"We did, sir." There was rustling of paper on the other end of the line, as Palden searched for a printout, or a file. "The pick-up is registered to a Benedict Vale. He's an FBI agent, sir, an ex-marine."

If Woodley's face hadn't been bloodless before, it certainly was now. Swearing loudly, he scrambled over to his desk and began to rifle through his papers.

"Fuck it, Palden, the Feds have access to it all! Back when Mendez escaped, I was called by an Agent... Ah-!" Woodley exclaimed as he found the business card. "Here it is, an Agent Clint Pearsall. He wanted a copy of my security staff and plans, to keep on record in case of a hostage situation."

"And you gave him complete copies of your security outlay?" Palden asked.

"He said he needed to know, Palden, what was I supposed to do? They were supposed to be protecting me!"

"You gave him complete copies of both the security staff rota and the camera layout?" Palden asked again, his voice annoyingly calm.

"Yes, damn it!"

Palden sighed.

"I was hoping you weren't going to say that, sir. It's going to make my job that much harder." The phone line crackled and Woodley heard Palden typing at a computer. "The good news is that there is no way this was an officially sanctioned mission."

"Why is that good news?"

"It means that this Agent Vale is working by himself."

A snort of disbelief came from Woodley's lips.

"What does he think he's going to accomplish by himself?"

"Extortion or blackmail, I can only assume." Palden cleared his throat. "He'll want money for silence – the usual deal."

"How does he know about the..." Woodley paused, loathe to say it aloud, even on his own "...the investment we made?"

"He probably has no idea, sir. The drive was in a safe. He probably just assumed it was valuable and decided to hold it ransom."

"Have you had a demand yet?"

"Not yet, sir, but it has been less than an hour."

Woodley nodded to himself, summing the situation up inside his head. He came to the conclusion that he should feel relieved.

"So its just one guy..."

"So far as we know, sir. There is no evidence that anyone else was involved." Palden coughed. "Obviously, we will follow up other lines of inquiry, as standard."

Another nod from the Senator.

"Well, the stupid bastard doesn't know what he's got himself in for." He laughed wryly. "We'll toast him alive. He's got nothing, really, you said my account number's not even listed on that drive. It wouldn't matter if he sent it to the Director of the FBI himself - its all circumstantial!"

"Believe me, sir," Palden murmured quietly. "You don't want this information floating around out there – incomplete or otherwise. Even a shadow of an accusation against you and the campaign would be in tatters. Not to mention that it would cast reasonable doubt on you." Woodley's security advisor sounded uneasy. "The FBI would investigate the claims - however circumstantial - and they have the resources to uncover evidence that is far more solid."

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence. The Senator leant forwards on his desk, running his hand through his hair. How had the night turned so quickly sour?

He let out a heavy sigh.

"Okay, Palden, what do you suggest we do about it?"

"Let me take care of it." his advisor asnwered, immediately.

Another minute passed, each man listening to the other breathe over the telephone line. Woodley considered his options. Palden was right, he could not leave the information out there. And he only had one other option.

"Okay." The Senator said, quietly. "You take care of it."

"Right away, sir."

"Make sure this punk doesn't bother me again."

Palden cleared his throat.

"You can count on me, sir."

Woodley shut the phone with a snap.

Palden would take care of it. Palden was good at making problems go away. Walking back over to his bed, he sat down upon in, amongst the bed sheets. He rolled over and lay on his back, but did not close his eyes. Sleep would be elusive, tonight. And Kade Woodley was not a man who lost sleep over things lightly.

Palden would take care of it, he repeated to himself. He rolled over and closed his eyes. The pillow was soft and the sheets comfortable against his skin, but his heartbeat was beating a little faster than usual.

Palden would take care of it.


	56. Chapter 56

_Chapter 56 – The Best Laid Plans_

.

Benedict Vale was walking down a dark alleyway, grasping two cups of hot coffee. He usually made a point of avoiding dark alleyways, in the early hours of the morning. He knew DC's crime statistics well enough to know better. Tonight however, he had made an exception. He was in a rush, and this alleyway was a short-cut between where he was parked and Ardelia Mapp's favourite coffee shop.

Mapp had been called in to work about half an hour after Vale had arrived back in Arlington, fresh from his operation with Starling at the Woodley house. The new lovers had barely jumped into bed when her cell had begun to ring. Unfortunately for Vale, Mapp was not the sort of Agent who let her cell ring out and she answered to hear her supervising agent on the other end. Something had come up on her drugs case – a hole in the prosecution case paperwork that she had to clear up before court the next day. She was ordered to come in and get it cleared up.

Vale had persuaded her to let him tag along, to keep her company (and to prevent her from committing the homicide she had threatened on her colleagues). As it was nearly twelve, and Mapp could barely keep her eyes open, they had stopped for coffee along the way. Parking was a bitch in downtown DC, so Mapp stayed in the car while Vale made the coffee run to the next block.

It was frigid outside – a real North American January night. As Vale crunched back through the snow and ice, his body began to shiver violently. The cold distracting him from his task, Vale did not notice a supicious dark patch on the concrete until he was practically on top of it. He managed to avoid standing in whatever it was, but the sudden movement caused scalding hot coffee to spill over his hand.

Vale swore.

"Damn it."

He stopped dead, trying to rearrange the polystyrene cups in his hands in a way which would allow him to wipe his hand on his coat. This was more difficult than it sounded. As he struggled, Vale became aware that though his feet were still, the sound of footsteps was still reverberrating around the dark alley.

He was not alone.

The moment was like something straight out of a movie. Vale stood stock still, spinning slowly around to take in his surroundings. Nothing looked out of place, there was no intruder in sight, but the alleyway was very dark. The shadows down it were almost pitch black. His heart had begun to thump audibly in his ears. Paranoia began to filter through his thoughts. Shadows behind the dumpster could provide cover for a mugger, the back entrance to a bar could hide an assassin. Vale spun around a second time, scanning for any possible assailants. His gun belt felt heavy around his waist. He could grab for it, but that would mean dropping the coffee cups.

Vale spun slowly again, searching.

.

_Crouched in the darkness, the assassin waited. His target was in sight, preoccupied and tired. The assassin's fingers curled around the trigger of his newest toy. The gun was long and slim – a carbon dioxide pressurised tranquiliser dart rifle. (His job today was not to kill, an unusual request for a man like him, but the pay was good enough). _

_The assassin liked the projection rifle. Generally, he was used to working with lethal weaponry, but this was all right. It was light, easy to handle, a little flighty on the kickback, but nothing that he couldn't handle. The rifle was not used by the police because of the difficulties of tranquilising a target of unknown weight. Too little tranquiliser would have no effect, too much could cause an overdose. For his purposes, however, the rifle was perfect. He knew his target's weight, height and physical description off by heart. His employer, a Mr Brian Palden, had sent him it an hour ago, by email. The assassin had already been on his way in to town. It was wonderful, what technology could do, nowadays - less than an hour to set up a hit._

_The assassin cocked the rifle against his shoulder and leant into the shot. He did not wonder what the target he was about to capture and deliver had done. He did not have any qualms about what would happen to them after his employers had taken what they wanted. He was a man of simple pleasures – guns and money; two pleasures that walked hand-in-hand often enough for him to earn a decent living. _

_He stroked the rifle's trigger with one gloved finger. From his position, he could just about mark target's shoulder. The shot would be almost perfect. He breathed in, then out and held it. _

_The target moved._

_Cursing inwardly, the assailant shifted to the left, regulating his breathing. The shot was all about the breath – always on the exhale, on the hold, with a squeeze. Always squeeze the trigger, never pull. It was something his father had taught him, nearly thirty years ago._

_The target was in his sights again, shoulder exposed. The assailant relaxed his shoulder, breathing in, then out. Hold. And squeeze..._

.

A crash caused Vale to drop both cups of coffee, his hand sweeping instantly to his gun belt. Years of training, both in the military and for the bureau, had prepared him for this moment. Aiming at head height, he swept around towards the noise and prepared to pull the trigger. When he reached the source of the noise, however, his eyes met nothing.

Vale froze, gun aimed, safety off.

For a moment, nothing moved, and then a figure appeared from the shadows, both hands raised.

"Woah, man, don't shoot, okay?"

It was a kid, no more than twenty or so, wearing a shirt and jeans. A vomit trail ran in a path from his chest to his white sneakers – clearly a client of the bar next door, come outside for a breath of fresh air. Vale lowered his gun, slowly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just standing, man..." the kid gave a goofy grin, a string of saliva hanging from his mouth. Despite evacuating his stomach, he was still very obviously drunk. "No law against that, right?" He tripped and fell against the wall. "Who the fuck are you, man? Are you a cop? Did someone call about me, because if they did they're lying..." he coughed and spat.

Vale stowed his gun away in its belt.

"You should probably get home, sir."

"Yeah, well fuck you!" the kid scowled, and staggered off back into the bar, through the back door. It took him two attempts, but he eventually made it back through the door and disappeared from sight.

Vale watched him go, his heart slowly returning to normal speed. He looked down at the spilled coffee cups at his feet and cursed. This was why you should never work with a three-day sleep deficit hanging over your head. You got sloppy and paranoid. You started making assassins out of assholes.

Rubbing his face vigorously, Vale turned back to the end of the alleyway that he had just come from and set off. He would buy them another cup of coffee, he would make it back to the car this time – without being stopped by anymore invisible assassins on the way. Cursing himself for having such an overactive imagination, Vale stomped off through the snow.

.

He managed to purchase replacement cups of coffee quickly. The line at the all-night cafe was shorter than it had been the last time. Walking back through the snow, Vale gripped them tightly, determined not to have to buy a third. He took the alleyway fast, and - emerging at the front of the bar - saw the kid who had been puking in the alley being put into a taxi by the bar bouncers. With a smile, Vale plodded onward through the snow.

The pickup was parked around the corner from the bar, under a leafless oak sapling. As he drew closer, Vale was surprised to find that the front seats were empty. He frowned. Where was Ardelia? She had agreed to stay there, and make sure they weren't ticketed. Arriving at the truck, Vale set the coffee cups down on the roof of the pickup and tried the door handle. The pick-up was open. If she had left the car for any reason, why wouldn't she lock it?

Vale checked the road around himself for Mapp, but she was nowhere in sight. He was just about to walk back the way he had come, in case she had followed him to the cafe, when his phone began to sight of the caller ID filled him with relief. _Mapp calling_... (He still hadn't changed her name to Dee, though he had been meaning to for a few days now).

Vale answered eagerly.

"Dee, where the hell are you?"

"Well good morning, Special Agent Vale."

His blood cooled in his veins. The voice on the other end was not Ardelia Mapp's. Vale did not recognise it, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that the situation did not sound good.

"Who the hell is this?" He cleared his throat, which was suddenly very tight. "What have you done with Ardelia Mapp?"

"Now come, Benedict, I am offended. Why do you assume we have done anything at all to your beautiful lady friend?" The voice sounded amused.

"Who are you? Why do you have Mapp's phone?" Vale demanded, a little more forcefully this time. "I'm going to call the police!"

The voice laughed, then cleared its throat.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that. Very unwise. Any contact with the police, and I can no longer guarantee Miss Mapp's safety."

"What have you done with her?" Vale demanded again.

"Nothing, as of yet." The voice cleared its throat and continued. "Now, for the purposes of simplicity, I would ask you to call me Brian for the remainder of proceedings."

"Proceedings?" Vale's face creased with confusion.

"I will be negotiating the return of Miss Ardelia Mapp, on behalf of my employer."

"What employer? Negotiating the return... is this a ransom?"

"My employer would prefer to think of it as an exchange of resources." The voice called Brian added, clipped and business-like. "You have something that belongs to us and, now, we have something that belongs to you. I'm sure, between us, we can work something out."

"I have something that belongs to you?" Vale spluttered indignantly. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Six inches, black plastic, one terabyte - ring any bells?"

Woodley. Vale's blood ran cold.

"Yes."

"I trust that Miss Mapp's well-being is sufficient to keep your attention and prevent you from calling the authorities?"

Vale could not breathe. He was rooted to the spot. His feet were cold but his skin was hot and his heart was pumping crazily fast inside his chest. His ribs felt like they were about to break under the pressure. He was going to freeze to death, burn alive, spontaneously combust.

"What have you done to her...?" he asked again, this time in a whisper.

"As I have said before, Agent Vale, Ardelia Mapp has not been harmed. Nor will she be, should you continue to be compliant."

Heart throbbing in his neck, Vale swallowed.

"What do you want me to do?"

.


	57. Chapter 57

_A/N – I would like to take this opportunity to thank, wholeheartedly, anyone who was read this far into my 'little' fic – especially those who have read and reviewed. I have been overwhelmed by the kindness and the tenacity of some of you readers, who have hung on through what is arguably the most slowly-updated fic ever to have been posted. Although I have long-since lost momentum on this story, I decided that I should push on and finish it, for anybody who wanted to know how it ended. It was written at a very busy time in my life, so I will probably have to go back over it, at some point, and edit it properly. Fingers crossed, its not too much of disappointment. _

_Also; apologies to anyone who has sent me a message/review over the last few months and not received a reply. It's nothing personal, I have just had no time at all for anything other than eating, working, sleeping and going slowly insane. I'm sure you all understand. All my best,_

_Silver._

_Ps – this chapter is really quite M, so if you're not an M-lover, (or feel particularly offended by FBI Agents and cannibals getting it on), then please turn away now._

_._

_Chapter 57 – A Beautiful Game_

.

Starling arrived at his door as the clock struck twelve, the timing of her arrival a beautiful metaphor for the creature she had become. It was late and the hotel lights were dimmed. In the half-light, the reflections off her chestnut hair danced like fire. Hannibal Lecter was not often given to sentimental musings, but he thought that his lover might never have been as beautiful as she was now. Every inch of his body ached to reach out and touch her, to pull her into his embrace and lose himself in the feel and scent of her, but he held back. The hallway was not a safe place for their reunion.

"I know I should have called first, but I was just downstairs and I missed you." Her lips faltered, for a moment, then she softly breathed his name. "Hannibal..."

He blinked slowly, savouring the strands of her voice. It was the first time he had heard her speak, without the interference of phone lines, since his escape and his mind reeled with the pleasure. Only on Clarice Starling's lips could the name Hannibal sound so beautiful.

The Doctor smiled to himself, at what a strange creature he had become – something which loved and killed with equal zeal. A years-ago Hannibal would not have recognised him. In youth, Lecter had often mistaken the vulnerability that love brought to be weaknesses. But now, watching Clarice Starling bathed in half-light, he realised that having something to protect made him infinitely more dangerous.

"So you gonna let me in?" his lover's mouth tugged up into a smile. "It's kind of rude to leave a girl standing out in the cold."

Lecter stepped aside and Starling strode in past him. She did not pause to greet him there, in the doorway. Years in the Bureau, and on the run, had trained Starling well. She was cautious by nature. Striding further into the room, she paused to look about herself, taking in the high ceilings and the luxury furnishings of the suite. Her eyes travelled from the bed, in the room next door, to the enormous fireplace on the far wall, then over to the great long windows, thoroughly draped in thick fabric.

Watching her all the while, the Doctor closed and locked the door behind them.

"Nice place you've got here." Starling murmured softly, running her hand along the back of a plush maroon sofa. She turned on her heel and tilted her head in his direction. "Nice price?"

The Doctor shrugged. He had spent too many years in a nine-by-six jail cell to feel guilty for his little indulgences.

"Nice enough." It was the first thing he had spoken to her and until it was said he had almost doubted his vocal cords to make sound at all. The whole situation felt a tad surreal. He had not been expecting Clarice Starling to appear at his door tonight. He had not expected her to take the risk. But now that she had, he was unendingly grateful.

"So, I dropped stuff off with Mendez." Starling unbuttoned her coat and dropped it over the back of the sofa, straightening the pullover she was wearing underneath. Its dark blue matched her eyes exactly. "He's got the disk and all his supplies. If he needs anything, he's gonna call me. So..." she exhaled heavily. "I guess you have me until eight tomorrow."

The Doctor appraised his lover silently. The stress she had been under, over the past few weeks, was taking its toll. Her frame, which had been lean before the pregnancy, was now almost emaciated. The shadows below her cheekbones were darker, the lines of her collarbones sharper than ever. Clearly, her work schedule was so busy that making food of any nutritional value had been thrown out the window. Lecter sighed. He had always said that Starling's affection for anything crème-filled and individually wrapped in cellophane would be her demise.

His lover seemed uncomfortable with his scrutiny and busied herself in removing her winter boots, which were still wet from the outside snow. She was characteristically ungainly about it, prying them roughly from her feet with the toes of her opposite foot, then almost tripping over them as she stepped away. The Doctor watched her performance with hidden amusement and a growing desire to crush her against a wall and do things that could not be called genteel, by any stretch of the imagination.

"So," Starling turned in her stocking feet and looked at him expectantly. "Do I get a hug or something? I mean, I know you're not big on displays of affection, but I've had a really shit day and I did break you out of prison."

There was something indescribably endearing about the way she was standing there, in jeans and a long pullover. Her mis-matched socks were slightly different shades of navy which had probably looked the same, when she dressed in the dark that morning.

The hotel room was large, but not overly so. Lecter crossed the room in five steps, coming to stand close to Starling's left shoulder. In close proximity, the nervous tension in Starling's body was all the more obvious. Her shoulders were stiff, her smile a little forced. As the Doctor brushed his index finger along the side of hers, her eyelids fluttered almost closed and she shivered. He understood completely. The first touch of her skin had felt like being plunged into cold water – that moment before a body cannot tell whether it was experiencing pain or pleasure.

"Damn, H,"

She almost fell forwards into his embrace, her haste to press her body up against his leading to an awkward nudge on his jaw with her shoulder. The Doctor did not much mind. He grasped her body and pulled it hard against him, hungrily sucking in the scent of her. She smelt of winter. Her cheek, which he felt as she pushed her face into his neck, was still freezing from the air outside. Full body contact, after so long separated by glass and the stares of the FBI, was indescribably satisfying. Starling's body, pressed hard into him, was both familiar and completely new. Their embrace held the width of her belly between them and, as they leant together, the child with her began to kick.

"Ah-!" Lecter's lover startled, pulling back from his arms. The nervous expression she had worn at the door was back. "Sorry." Her eyes darted up to Lecter's then away again. "She got me good there."

It was the first time Starling had given away the child's sex. The Doctor had sensed that she was reluctant to give it up, over the phone and suspected he knew the reason why. The sex of their child humanised it and his lover was afraid how he would react to another person in their relationship. Lecter could not exactly blame her; he was not the most open and welcoming of people. This time, however, Starling had misjudged the situation entirely. The idea of their creating a human being was exactly what attracted Lecter to the child.

A living creature, made solely from he and Starling; it was exhilarating prospect. As a medical man, Lecter knew that life was simply electricity, the firing of synapses directed by some higher biological imperative. Yet it seemed almost poetic that his and Starling's electricity had yielded another; that their lust had yielded something more than momentary pleasure. He was not yet sure how far his fathering instincts went, but he was relieved to find that he wanted to see the child he had created come into this world, and he already felt protective of it. At the moment, his protective instincts were an extension of the instincts he felt towards his lover, but he expected that would change in time. The child was part of him and, contrary to popular belief, he was neither a sociopath nor made of stone. He loved.

"How is she?" he asked the question carefully. He did not want to sound too interested, or disinterested. Both would unnerve Starling, in her current state of anxious tension. "Growing well?"

"Yeah, she's big for thirty-two weeks," Starling pulled a crooked smile, "and plenty healthy. Ten fingers, ten toes and a good heart." His girl paused, eyes flickering between his, searching perhaps for a sign of what he was thinking.

She would not find one. Hannibal Lecter was well practiced in the art of stoicism. Starling would have had to be a mind reader, to know that he was pondering the genetic penetration of mid-ray polydactyly and feeling relieved on behalf of his normal, five-fingered offspring.

A couple of seconds passed, before she spoke again. When she did, her tone was quiet enough, but Lecter could see the weight of the impending question in her eyes.

"Hannibal, there's something I need to ask you..."

He knew what she needed to ask and why she had to ask it, but it was as uncomfortable for him as for her. The situation was made worse by the Doctor having nothing to back himself up with. There were no facts and figures he could throw – no medical journals to quote. In fact, there was a complete dearth of literature available on the fathering abilities of cannibalistic serial killers (...perhaps not without reason).

"I, uh... I don't want to offend you or anythin', H, but I need to know where you stand on all of this." His lover cleared her throat twice. "I mean, if you want to stay, I need to know you're in it for both of us."

"Clarice, you never need to question my involvement in our relationship." He assured her gently, giving her a little more space within the confines of his arms. He did not want her to feel trapped and push away. He tried to do the same thing with his words – keep them calming. "There is nothing I would like more than to spend the rest of my life absorbed in you and all that you entail."

"Yeah, well she's going to be a person one day," Starling pointed out, a touch bitterly. "Not just something 'I entail'."

_Touché_.

The Doctor cleared his throat softly.

"I need to know whether you're ready for that, Hannibal."

"I was not ready for you," he pointed out, carefully. "And here we are, all these years later."

"That was different."

"Not so very much, both hit me like a freight train."

"H..." Starling turned her head away.

Had she murmured his name in pity or reproach? The Doctor did not know. Releasing his hold on her, he stepped back and leant against the sofa. His lover did not move to join him, just held her mouth in her hand pensively for a moment, staring off behind him. The luxury suite was lit by a single table lamp, which bathed Starling's features in a soft golden light. Imperfections in her skin – a small cut on her cheek, a bruise on her neck – only made her more beautiful. Lecter longed to trace them with his tongue, to drag her down into base sensation until she was lost.

Clarice Starling falling was the most beautiful thing he had ever created.

"It's not just about you." She finally admitted, to the silent room. "If you're not ready to do this, then it's going to affect me too." Turning her face back towards him, she did not yet meet his eye. "Hannibal, I don't know if I can lose you again and not completely break down. You have no idea how barely I've been holding on, these past few weeks. I mean, during the escape," she swallowed hard, then continued. "During the escape, when two inmates were reported shot dead..."

"My little improvisation."

"...it nearly killed me." Her eyes finally sought him out again. They were slightly over-bright. "Sitting on that sofa, thinking I'd lost you all over again, was torture. But it made me realise that I can't invest in a future together if you're gonna turn around in a month or two and leave. So, I decided I'd give you a choice." Starling took a deep breath as she delivered her ultimatum. "If you're gonna stay, you have to be in this for the long run. If not, then we can go our separate ways and it doesn't change what we had together."

Despite the magnificence of her emotional growth, the Doctor felt obliged to step in at this point.

"Clarice, whatever gave you the impression that I wanted to leave?"

"Nothing, H, nothing now, but that might change when you realise the reality of the situation. This isn't going to be a walk in the park. It's not a game like before – running all over the world, spending one night in Paris and the next in Singapore. That life was a fantasy – my fantasy." Her lips twitched up, into a smile. "And I'm so fucking happy you lived it with me, but it _was_ a game, Hannibal."

Lecter was silent for a moment or two. He was somewhat impressed with her analysis of their time spent together. She had put it so succinctly.

"And you want to know if I'm going to tire of you, once the game is through?"

"Yes."

"Clarice..."

He beckoned for her to join him, leaning against the back of the sofa. As expected, she chose to remain standing. The Doctor took her hand instead, the one she kept raising to thumb at her lip.

"I could have left the day you freed me, Clarice." He told her slowly. "I could have disappeared forever if I had wanted to, so never make the mistake of thinking I stayed out of duty." He guided her gently closer, to stand on front of him, between his legs. "I stayed because I wished to stay. And, while your run over the world was a game, it was also something more. Children play games to ready themselves for life. Our game is no different." He rubbed slow circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, watching her expressions shift. "I understand that we will have responsibilities, but we will still have pleasures. I will still take you to Paris, Clarice, and you will still destroy me with a single glance."

"It can't be the same." She whispered, almost sorrowfully.

"All things change, little Starling. I am strong enough to do this." He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze, before pulling her body closer. "And you are strong enough to let me."

The little speech was truth mixed with a fair bit of bravado. The Doctor knew that he and his lover were damaged in as many ways as a human being could be damaged. His family decimated before his eyes, he had lost himself in revenge and fashioned himself into a monster. Yet, after all that had been done to him and after all that he had done to himself, to stop himself from hurting, Lecter could still love.

Something in his story assured him that the human capacity for creation would always be greater than their capacity for destruction. It reassured him that two damaged people, no matter how brutally scarred they were, could build something, rather than destroy it. The Doctor was not foolish enough to think that love was all that was needed to raise a child, but he had considered other aspects too. They had the time and resources to provide stability, and they had the knowledge to teach it... surely it could not go too wrong from there? And if it did, the Doctor thought wryly, at least it would make a bloody excellent research paper.

Being a practical man, who did not wish to be shot, he chose not to share this last thought with Clarice.

"I just need to know you want to be in this." His lover sighed. Her eyes were exhausted.

"I'm in this, Clarice, for as long as you want me," he told her gently. "Just as long as you know that I can only give you what that I am."

As the words left his lips, he felt acutely aware of the vulnerability of his situation. His lover's expression was veiled.

That reason behind Hannibal Lecter's attraction to Clarice Starling was – and had always had been – the fact that he could not read her, not completely. However much they got to know one another, there was always that bit of his lover that remained just beyond his reach. Lecter knew that he would spend the rest of his life chasing after that bit of her. Now, there was nothing he would rather spend the rest of his life doing, but not being able to read Starling did sometimes lead to situations like these. Situations in which he was painfully unsure of what she was about to say or do next.

Being a man who very rarely felt unsure, Lecter did not quite know what to do with himself, in these situations. He settled for gripping the back of the sofa harder beneath him, and holding his tongue. Eventually, after a very tense thirty seconds, she spoke.

"All you are," her words were slow but sincere, her eyes steady, "is all that I want."

A thrill of pleasure to passed through him. Over the last three years, he had learned what Starling wanted and that he was a part of that. Though he trusted that that had not changed, in the few months that they had been apart, it was still good to hear it from her lips. All humans crave acceptance. Hannibal Lecter was no different, in that respect.

"Then you have me." He took her hand in his, pressing a kiss against the palm of it. "My life is yours, ex-Special Agent Starling."

Starling bit her lip and nodded curtly, like she was finalising a deal.

The Doctor hid a smile. She looked so incredibly beautiful and, in that moment, so incredibly young for her thirty-six years. He wished, briefly, that the rest of his life was a longer gift to give her. Then she leant back into him, pressing her lips into his own with ravenous hunger, and the thought was lost.

They settled into their favourite game; gentle kisses, chased by deeper ones, shortening their breaths and energizing their bodies. It had been a long time and soon he had to pause for breath. The speed of his heart, thumping in his ears, was dizzying and almost definitely above eighty-five. The scent of her was slightly sharp, of cold air and the exhaust of the Mustang. He was fairly sure it was the same car as she had owned those years ago; the leather left the same tang on her skin. Her skin crème was new, however, something more subtle than the one she used to use. Vanilla, mixing with the cranberry of her shampoo.

Her touch was like fire, her fingertips lighting up patches of skin as they ran up his sides and across his back. Pressing in close, Lecter's lover caressed his mouth with hers. Her kisses were demanding, her breath tasted of chocolate. He pulled her closer, flush into him. Her swollen belly prevented them from getting as close as he would like, but it placed significant pressure across the front of his groin. There was probably some social taboo, which should limit his excitement at the body of a pregnant woman, but the Doctor was never one for observing social taboos. And it had been a very long time.

"You feel good..." Starling hooked her fingers into his waistband and pulling him forwards against her. "Real good. I missed you."

The vibration of her voice carried down, through her belly and into his body. His blood redirected itself on some ancient biological imperative, leaving him slightly hard. He did not bother to fight it. Sex was where this evening was leading. Starling nudged against him in time to their kisses. His lover may have been young, but she was not naive. She knew the effect she could have on him and she meant every bit of it. Gone was her reserve of a few minutes ago. Now, her eyes were twinkling with intent.

It was Starling that eventually led them to the hotel bedroom. Taking him by the hand, she walked him as far as the door, before proceeding to the enormous bed alone. Standing there, she pulled off the blue pullover, watching him all the while. The heavy mahogany door stood half-open behind them, letting the next door's light diffuse softly in. Its golden hue was so faint that the room could have been lit by a candle's flame. The Doctor watched the shadows dance across his lover's skin as she moved. She was beautiful.

Unfastening her jeans, she slid them down one leg and then the other, before stepping out.

"Come on," Beckoning him forwards, she offered her hand again. When he closed the gap and took it, she pulled him in, placing his hand flat against her chest. Her eyes twinkled in the soft light. "Make my heart beat a little faster, H..." she sighed into his lips.

He acquiesced willingly.

They stumbled over towards the bed, lips pressing into one another with an almost uncomfortable ferocity. Starling was the fiercest. The Doctor could sense that she desperately wanted to lose herself in the moment. Morning held more federal offenses and betrayals for her – she wanted to forget it all for as long as she could. He was more than willing to help her. They explored each other for a while, all clutching hands and breathless pressing embraces, then kisses ceased to be all she needed.

Pulling back, Starling stepped over to the bed and climbed up on it, pulling off her t-shirt as she went. Before crawling further over the sheets, she tossed the t-shirt carelessly away, smiling as it fell with a soft 'pat' at Lecter's feet. The Doctor let his eyes hang on it for a moment, so coming back to her would be even more of a treat. As always, it was.

His lover had crawled to the top of the bed and rolled over on her side. Her milky skin was paler than ever, her swollen belly a stark contrast with her lean shoulders and chest. He could count the ribs down her side. Rubbing the side of her bump, she threw him a shy smile.

"So, grossed out yet?"

"No." He shook his head.

Not nearly. He had never considered having sex with a pregnant woman before, but that was due to circumstance, rather than any particular dislike. The surge of hormones racing through his veins was certainly telling him that he still wanted her. The tightness in his groin was telling him the same.

Starling's grin widened, revealing pointed incisor teeth. He remembered, fondly, the marks he had borne from them.

"Come on, then."

It took only a minute or so for him to undress and, unlike Starling, he did not bother with leaving his underwear on. As he approached, Starling appraised him from the bed. The playfulness had dropped from his lover's eyes, replaced with a strange dark lust. Climbing onto the bed, Lecter crawled up to half-lie, half-sit beside her, leaning over to place chaste kisses against her cheeks and forehead. With each kiss, Starling tried to redirect him to her mouth, but each time he resisted.

Eventually, she drew back, throwing him a frown.

"That's cheating." She whispered, her voice breathless and husky with want.

"Hmm."

Slipping one hand around her side, he skimmed the swollen belly, then up to the edge of her brassiere. It was lace, something he had not seen before but appreciated for the glimpse it gave him of the skin underneath. Running his hand behind her, he unclipped the lacy garment, pulling it gently back from her skin to reveal the halo of skin around her nipple. It had darkened since he last saw her naked. Her reaction to his touch had not changed, however. She still arched up into him, demanding to be touched. Lightly, he traced the dip between her breasts up into her neck and wound his fingers around her throat.

"Cheat," she whispered again, but there was no fight in it. If he wanted to take her now she would all-but surrender.

The Doctor tightened his grip and Starling squirmed back against him in delight. There were not many people in the world who would allow Hannibal Lecter a stranglehold on them, even a gentle one. Clarice Starling welcomed it. Her lips curled up in delight, her neck arching away from him, infinitely feminine in its delicacy. The skin along it was even paler than the rest of her, and incredibly inviting. He longed to mark her there with his teeth. The thought of Clarice Starling walking about the FBI headquarters, with his teeth imprinted upon her skin, was almost too delightful to bear, but his lover would not appreciate the irony. Turning his head from her warm skin, he continued to follow the lines of her body with his hand.

Starling trembled beautifully as his hand crept down, along the rise of her hip and across one buttock. A slow circling on the back of her thigh was enough for her lift her leg for him and he followed the crook of it in. Her skin, beneath the thin layer of silken panties, was hot. The undergarments themselves were the kind which untied at the side and were marketed for their convenience in such situations as these. He wondered, aloud, whether she had been expecting anything, from her visit tonight. She admitted that she had been.

A quick pull on a silken ribbon and she was bared to the room. He gave her no time to adjust to her exposure. His hand brushed against her, tracing circles up the inside of her thigh, across her swollen, heated flesh. Following the border of her dark hair, he slipped two fingers down to rest on either side of her barely-hooded clitoris, eliciting a tiny gasp.

The bed moved as Starling reached over her shoulder, her fingers coming to rest against his head. He had learned years ago that the contact enhanced her pleasure, so he tilted his head forwards and let her have free range of movement. Her slow movements were good for him, too, serving as a much-needed distraction as she arched and squirmed against his hand. She was so warm.

He played her like a stringed instrument – running his fingers over her skin in quick succession.

"Not fair..." she moaned softly, brushing her lips against his cheekbone, as he leant over her shoulder.

"Come now, ex-Special Agent Starling." He whispered as he pressed himself, now very hard, against her back. "All is fair in love..."

The heat of her was becoming unbearable. What Lecter longed to do to her was not sweet or gentle. He longed to fold himself into her, to let their bodies fight for pleasure amongst the strain – hard, fast, desperate sex, like they did in those early days. Her fingers were dug in, just behind his ear and Lecter thought that he might be marked by half-moon imprints of her fingernails, when she eventually drew away. He did not mind, really. He would never mind being marked by her.

His fingers found her centre again and coaxed her to lean forwards into his hand. Placing a chaste kiss on her cheek, he turned his head to watch the expressions shift across her face. Her hand lost its grip on his head and slipped down, brushing the side of his neck on the way.

"All is fair." She echoed his words, followed by a soft exhale.

There was a great sadness in her voice and the Doctor knew exactly why. All was not fair, in love. All was not fair at all.

Tomorrow morning, she would leave him, in her quest for justice. He knew she must leave, of course. She was Clarice Starling, who carried the lamb through the night to try and save it from certain death. Mendez was her lamb, now, and she needed to carry him for as far as she could. She could not abandon the hopeless case; it was one of her more poignant human failings. The Doctor could not ask her not to go. She never asked him to change – not once had she delivered an ultimatum about his failings, or culinary tendencies.

"I don't want to go, you know." She whispered, in the darkness, causing the Doctor to look down in mild surprise.

This often happened. She would come out with some comment, or some unexpected observation, and he would realise that she knew him better than he thought – probably even better than he knew her. While he was left unsure and breathless, she knew the nuances of his silence like a second language. He supposed it was a survival mechanism, probably one of the first things she had learnt about him, when they had run away together, all those years ago. It made sense, Lecter thought, wryly. If you were going to live with a cannibalistic serial killer, it was a good idea to know his facial expressions.

"I don't want to leave," she told him again, because he had not responded.

"I know." He kissed her cheek.

He did not want to have this conversation. It would not change anything, but it would embitter the moment between them, and both of them desperately needed the release that sex could give them. It was a much better way of bonding, right now, than having an argument about her endangering herself, and their child, in this silly pursuit of perfect justice. He wondered if she would ever realise that there was no such thing as perfection. Would he ever teach her that? Could he bring himself to?

Starling rolled over slightly, turning her neck so that she was staring up at him. Their lips were inches away. He could kiss her if he wanted, tear this moment away and replace it with one full of lust and beauty. He could make her lose herself, over and over. His hand had slid, from the heat of her, to grip her thigh. Some rules stood, even between two people such as Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter – who broke more rules than they observed. You could not have a serious conversation when one lover was inside another.

"I know you do not want to leave," he told her, leaning forwards so that his forehead rested against hers. "And I assure you, the feeling is completely mutual."

Her eyes fluttered closed, momentarily, as their lips brushed. Then, she startled and forced them open again.

"H..."

"I love you. So I'll wait."

His lover was in no way stupid. She could tell that his words, while sincere, held a certain tone to them. The subject was not entirely closed. While he would support her decision, he was in no way happy with it. Turning her face away, again, Starling slipped her hand behind her back, into the space between their bodies. The Doctor did not have to look down to know what she was going to do. His girl always had ways of redirecting a subject. Usually, he did not allow it. Today, he wanted to lose himself in denial too. He let his body roll a little away from her, letting her hand slide between them.

Her fingers brushed first against his chest, drawing over one erect nipple, before following the dip of his sternum down to his belly. Her fingers skimmed across him until they found the trail of hair below his navel. Then, they followed it down. Her fingers curled slowly around his engorged penis. For a few seconds she just held him, the heat of her hand combining with the heat of him to make his skin feel like it was on fire. Her fingers flexed, slightly, testing her grip on him. Each movement caused another ripple of desire to shoot through him. After a moment, or two, she relaxed her hand slightly, sliding her fingers up, along his shaft to squeeze gently over the head.

Lecter to exhaled deeply into her shoulder. There were no words he could readily reach for, in the English language, to describe the sensation she could stir within him. Some superlative of 'good' was a start, but went so far beyond that. Electric longing shot through him, intensifying his senses. Burying his face into the crook of her neck, the Doctor concentrated on the pulsing of her jugular vein, just millimetres beneath her skin. Want mixed so bitterly with impending loss.

"Nobody else, Clarice..." he warned her, softly. Nobody else would survive using sex as a weapon against him.

"I know." She whispered back.

Though her heart rate had begun to plateau, his continued to rise. The dizzying, pre-climactic sensation that his lover's fingers had caused was fading back, replaced by steady throbbing want. The things he wanted to do to her were echoing with maddening intensity through his mind.

Removing her hand from the hard shaft of him, Lecter's lover turned her face forwards again, lifting a leg to invite him forward. Logistics were not a big problem at their angle and they had done this many times before. He let her arrange them, shifting forwards so that the end of him was against her very ready opening. His hand clamped the back of her thigh tightly to the front of his. The full body contact was almost as dizzying as the feel of her hand wrapped around him. He could feel the hot wetness of her against his erection. She wriggled backwards a little, arching back at him, asking him forwards.

"I love you," she whispered through the dark. "Tomorrow, I've gotta go, but right now I don't and I just want to feel you." Giving him a gentle nudge with her rear, she curled her body to ease his entry. "Please, just make me forget about it all."

It did not take much encouragement. It had been an incredibly long time and his body was aching for hers. They coupled with a slight groan, on her part. Discomfort, perhaps. He did not stop to ask because within seconds, she was arching back against him.

They moved gently at first, but not for long. Starling

She had always been an enthusiastic lover, but tonight her movements were almost desperate. Winding her body hard, she uttered tiny noises of encouragement as he moved within her. The pleasure he got from being inside her was nothing compared to the delight he took in watching her fall to pieces in front of him. Starling had always been a bit of a slave to her own pleasure. Once they had overcome her initial control issues, she had completely lost herself in it.

After a few minutes of lying, spooned together, the angle ceased to be enough for her and she uncoupled them for long enough to pull herself into a kneeling position. Grabbing the headboard for support, she wordlessly begged him back inside her.

The Doctor did as he was told.

It was not particularly well-paced sex. There was a lot of pushing and grunting and a less than dignified scramble, towards the finish line, because both of them knew they were not going to last much longer and both were desperate for release. It was really little more than teenage grinding, really; sweaty, messy and occasionally painful, when they lost grip on one another and fell apart. They had to pause and readjust more than once, something the Doctor was secretly grateful for. His months of celibacy were showing too. He had not had any release in days and the tautening of his abdomen told him his part in this was nearing an end.

His lover's hair fell in waves across her upper back, dancing between the winged shadows of her shoulder blades as she moved. In the half-light, she looked almost angelic. Arching her back to allow them closer together, Starling she thrust back onto him, rolling her hips. Lecter stilled himself, letting her guide them for a while. Surrender was painfully rewarding.

She exhaled his name and thrust back again.

And again.

Staying still was becoming increasingly difficult. Letting her work on him took the control out of the situation. It was becoming harder to balance his need to please her and his need to thrust and spill himself empty inside of her. His lover's language was getting increasingly spattered with expletives, her childhood accent resurfacing from somewhere within her, but she had not yet climaxed. So, as the tension within him reached a mind numbing level, he grabbed her hip and stilled her against him.

"Clarice," her name came falteringly to his lips. A bead of sweat had fallen to the corner of his mouth. He tasted salt. "If you want this to last any longer, you're going to have to give me a second."

She was watching him over her shoulder, her eyes dangerously dark. Then slowly, purposefully, she pushed back against him again.

"Clarice!" he hissed her name this time. A warning.

She never said a word in reply, just smiled. Turning to face forwards again, she began to roll against him again. More friction, this time, more heat. The Doctor exhaled slowly. His lover knew exactly what she was doing. Sex was her game and she played not only to win, but to devastate the opponent. He had seen it in her eyes when she looked back at him. Tonight, she would not be satisfied unless he was quivering in need of her.

He was fairly sure she would get her wish. Sensation was threatening to overpower him. The scent of her sweat on her skin filled his nostrils. Golden light dancing off her back made her appear as something else, something from a poem or an ancient story. She felt like something other. Surely no human being could be so warm?

His belly and balls felt tight. The entire world, for just the briefest of moments, disappeared except for the need to plunge himself into her. This was the moment of rising, where he could not turn back. Heat rose within him and he hung there for a split second; tight and hot and tense and, at the same time, blissfully separate from reality. For a second he faltered, then submitted to the pleasure of her flesh. His thrusting into her became less voluntary. With a strangled sigh, he bit down into the back of her shoulder.

Starling whispered his name, her breaths shortening as his heat filled her and then she buckled too.

"Ah-..." Starling's climax lasted longer than his, muscle spasms ricocheted down her spine for a good thirty seconds. Her back, pushing up against his belly, gave Lecter a second thrill of pleasure. "...Hannibal."

They moved more gently through her aftershocks, until she stopped trembling. Then the Doctor sank back on his folded legs and she went with him, still coupled together. Forehead resting against her head, Lecter remained silent. The strange clarity he always experienced after climax was filling his senses. Colour seemed to be a little brighter, the air a little sweeter. He could feel her heart beating hard through her back. The scent of her skin filled his nostrils.

They sat for a minute or so, revelling in their post-coital calm.

"I don't really love you, you know." Starling whispered eventually. "I was just sayin' that to get into your pants."

Lecter chuckled and yawned. His eyelids were heavy, his body quite happy to surrender himself to sleep for the night. Giving the sides of Starling's swollen belly a rub, he kissed the rather ugly mark he had made on the back of her neck. Come morning she would have something to say about his teeth imprinted there. For now, however, ignorance was bliss.

With a sigh, Starling leant forwards and lifted herself free.

"Mmm..." she pulled a face, wiping the inside of her thigh. Wiping her hand on the sheet, Lecter's lover crawled over to her side of the bed and flopped down, her eyelids were heavy. She looked as tired and satisfied as he was.

"It's been a long time." Lecter sighed.

Wiping himself clean on one of the bed sheets and tossing it to the floor, he lay down beside his lover. He pulled the rest of the sheets up and the lovers shifted around until they were comfortable. The light next door was soft enough not to be a bother, so the Doctor decided to leave it on. His muscles protested at the idea of getting up again. They lay in contented silence for a few moments, and then Starling spoke.

"Hold me,"

It was said melodramatically and the Doctor chuckled along with her, but he complied with the request. Starling was the queen of passive-aggressive. She would have never asked him to hold her directly. Burrowed into the sheets, they sat and talked about one thing or another, Lecter tracing ancient Greek letters her huge, pregnant belly. His lover seemed to enjoy it.

"You know, Clarice, I think we should buy the room out until you leave..." the Doctor let his eyes close, leaning back into the pillows. "Then mail the key to the FBI. Forensics would have a field day."

Starling gave him a playful nudge, but said nothing.

As their bodies cooled, the jovial mood in the room began to fade. Thoughts of sleep brought with them thoughts of morning and Starling's departure. Neither lover wanted morning to come, but both were exhausted and resisting slumber was becoming harder and harder.

Starling, whose day had been both long and arduous, was the first to slip away. The Doctor stayed awake a while longer, watching her lips move in her sleep. There were things that he could say that could make her stay, tomorrow morning. He knew her well enough to manipulate her easily. But he knew that saying them would be taking advantage of the trust and love between them. If he made her stay, and abandon her lamb, something of them would be forever tainted by his doing so. So, he decided, he would hold his tongue.

Shifting closer, he rested his head against her back and breathed her in. Love was a beautiful and terrible game; all was fair, yet nothing was fair. Whatever he wanted, she would leave him, as the sun rose. However much he loved the woman lying on front of him – because of how much he loved her – he would eventually have to say goodbye. The world was cruel. He supposed it had to be, to balance out the beauty of moments such as these, but that gave him no comfort. Tomorrow, they would have to say goodbye again. He and Starling had had far too many goodbyes.

Closing his eyes, Lecter rested his head against her and concentrated on the steady beat of her heart. Slowly, it began to lull him off to sleep.


	58. Chapter 58

_Chapter 58 – Seven on a Tuesday morning_

.

The next morning brought a strange freezing rain, which froze central DC to an almost stand-still. The snow-ploughs were useless against its strange freezing nature and salting seemed to have minimal effect. Rush hour continued, nonetheless. The nation's capital had endured worse threats than a little bad weather.

Vale's pickup, however, had endured too many days of bad weather. As he slalomed along twenty-fifth Street, Vale wished he had taken his mechanic's advice and fitted new tires and fixed the power steering. Paddling at the accelerator, he attempted to take a corner at something more than five miles an hour and ended up on the sidewalk. His mind was in panic-mode. Thoughts of what could be happening to Ardelia Mapp, at that very moment, were coursing through his mind like a pack of rabid hounds. It had been more than nine hours since the call from the man who was holding her hostage. The possibilities were endless.

Last night's snow was now grey slush, criss-crossed with frozen tire tracks. The streets did not have enough traction for him to drive at such a speed, but he didn't really have an option. He needed to get to the hotel. He needed to get to Starling.

A van passing in the opposite direction, honked loudly in complaint as Vale's pickup skidded half across the opposite lane.

"Sorry," he mouthed at the other vehicle, but it had already passed. Vale turned his attention back to the road ahead of him, the view hazy through the freezing rain.

He had spent the last nine hours frantically trying to get in contact with Clarice Starling. The man who had called him with Ardelia's cell phone had given him twenty-four hours to arrange a meeting. It was to be a simple exchange, the kidnapper had said – Agent Mapp for the hard disk drive, un-bugged and undamaged. Vale had rushed immediately back to Arlington, hoping like hell that Starling was back home, after meeting with the contact who was going to decrypt the drive. He called her cell all the way there, but got no answer. When she was not at the house, he tried to call her again.

Still no answer.

At a loss for other options, Vale had broken into her room and searched it, looking through her drawers and computer for some sign of which hotel she was meeting the contact. The computer had almost nothing on it, save a few photographs of Gil the dog. Her desk drawers yielded little more – a few case files, from both the Mendez and Lecter cases. Options dwindling, Vale had considered calling the police, or, at the very least, his superior at the Bureau. Two things held him back. Firstly, the kidnapper had forbidden him any contact with the authorities. Secondly, what he had done tonight, to enrage the man who now held Mapp, was a federal offence. Vale knew he would almost certainly go to prison for it.

Desperate to find Starling, Vale had started to call around all the hotels in and around DC, asking if any women fitting his partner's description had arrived within the last few hours. Most of the answers he received were irritable. It was, after all, the middle of the night. He originally started with cheap motels, before remembering something Starling had said to him earlier that night – a throwaway comment about twenty-four hour room service – that narrowed the possibilities significantly.

Vale began to call luxury hotels around DC and hit gold within a few phone calls. A particularly lavish place in Georgetown had a woman fitting Starling's description entering the hotel at just after eleven o' clock. Vale had scrambled to his pickup and headed out at top speed. On the way to the hotel, he tried Starling's phone number again, just in case. Like the hundreds of times he had already tried, she did not pick up. So, on he roared through the city.

Despite the desperation of his situation, Vale could see the genius in Starling's choice of meeting place. The hotel was only a couple of blocks away from Senator Woodley's DC house. It was the perfect place to hide – in full sight. Who would expect the thief to head back from where they came from? He could not fully appreciate her plan, however. He was busy feeling resentful of her secrecy. Valuable hours had been lost trying to locate her, hours that could have been better used getting Mapp back.

As he drove along, Vale felt a sudden surge of animosity bubble up inside him, towards the situation. It was so stupid. It could have been avoidable. Now, all he wanted to do was forget about Mendez and his bloody exoneration. Fuck the convictions for the corrupt Woodley - Vale didn't care about Starling's vendetta anymore, he just wanted his girlfriend back, whole and unharmed. The desire for it was stronger than he could have ever imagined. Though he knew that his love for Mapp was still in its infancy, and others would say he was foolish for feeling the way he did, Vale would quite willingly lay down his life to save hers. He had wanted her for a long time and now that he had her, he could not lose her.

Pulling the nose of the pickup around, he pulled onto the final approach to the hotel. As he roared towards it, he passed a bank, whose clock outside read seven thirty-one in orange neon. On a normal day, Vale would have already been on his way into work. With a sinking feeling, he realised he had not yet called to explain his absence. It was probably for the best. Depending on how things turned out, the Agent might need to make a rather different call today; admitting to a felony and begging for the Bureau's help in retrieving his captured girlfriend. Vale gripped the steering wheel anxiously. Would the FBI even help him, if he called? What if they wouldn't? If the Bureau wouldn't help, what would happen to Mapp? And where in God's fieriest hell was Starling?

Thanks to DC rush hour, the journey to Georgetown had taken him nearly twice as long as usual. Nevertheless, the end was now in sight. A few hundred metres down the street sat his destination, luxuriating in a rolling plot of land. Vale accelerated hard along the last stretch of road, pulling into the car lot and parking haphazardly across two spaces. He was here, finally. Relief was hanging, ready to flood into him the moment he spotted Starling. She had been here last night. If she hadn't come home, she must still be here, now.

Leaping out the car, he slipped and nearly decapitated himself on the open pickup door. The ice was uncompromising. As he fell, twisting his ankle, he slammed his elbow hard into it. The impact sent shockwaves up into his shoulder, causing him to yelp and swear profusely. The doorman shuffled over towards him, calling out to ask if he was all right.

"Sir! Sir, are you all right?"

"Yes," Vale snapped, stumbling painfully to his feet. His ankle was agony, fire shooting through his lower leg. "Fine, it's nothing, go back to your post."

The man hovered.

"Sir, are you sure? Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

"No, damn it." Vale reigned himself in. "Sorry," he pulled himself straight and dug through his coat for his credentials. "I'm here on Bureau business. I need to speak to your manager, or a receptionist. I called earlier, about a woman who was staying here."

The doorman looked nervous.

"Is there some trouble? Should I call the police?"

"No," Vale slammed the door of the pickup and began to limp towards the hotel entrance. "She's an agent with us. It's just a pick up, but it's really important I get this thing. Please don't call anyone, just stay at your post."

"Well, okay..."

The man watched him go, saying nothing more. Hotels such as this one prided themselves on their confidentiality. Vale suspected he could have run in covered in blood, waving a gun, and there would not have been one call to the police. He slowed down, however, as he broke in through the front doors and approached reception. The hotel's patrons were starting to descend into the foyer in search of breakfast and – despite his rush – Vale did not want to create a panic.

Arriving at the desk, he seized the attention of the young male receptionist.

"Morning," he lay his badge face-up on the counter. "I called thirty minutes ago."

The receptionist stared blankly for a moment. Clearly, it was not every day that he had desperate FBI agents tearing in through his front doors. Shaking himself free of his surprised, the receptionist shot him a wide smile and began to dig around on the desk surface.

"Yes, sir, good morning. I'm just on-shift, but I have a note here, about your situation."

Situation? He made it sound like some sort of sordid romantic affair.

"Yeah, I called about the agent?"

The receptionist was slowly reading his note.

Vale cleared his throat.

"The FBI Agent, the woman?" he reiterated.

"Ah, yes..." the receptionist slowly, frowning at his little scrap of paper. "You need to speak to this woman, yes?"

"Yes!" Vale snapped, and leant further over the reception desk. "Listen, I called half an hour ago and spoke to a man called 'Simon'." who was evidently brain-damaged. "He told me that this woman," Vale pulled a photograph of Starling from his coat pocket and flattened it on the countertop, "came in at around eleven last night. She's my partner and it is imperative to national security that I get in contact with her."

The receptionist took the photo hesitantly.

"Sir, I'm afraid I cannot really give out personal information about our clients. Her room number is private and-."

"_Sir_," Vale lay his hand rather forcefully on the countertop, causing the receptionist to jump. "I am going to talk to her, with or without your help." And because he had nothing to lose, he added "and if you chose not to help me, then I will report you to the relevant authorities as being obstructive to a Government investigation and you will be duly reprimanded."

That seemed to tip the scale.

After blustering for another minute or so, and glancing several times at the gun on Vale's hip, the receptionist informed him that Starling had booked room number twenty-one. Thanking him profusely, Vale made his way over to the stairs at a run. He arrived on the second floor out of breath and wincing from the pain in his lower leg. He leant against the wall to regain his breath, glancing up and down the rich plum hall for number twenty-one. The doors nearest him were lower numbers, so he gathered himself and strode along the hall, searching for Starling's room. He found it right at the end, next to the fire escape.

The receptionist downstairs had agreed to give him a key, but Vale knocked anyway. Bursting in on Starling and her contact was not a wise thing, not least because he had been warned explicitly not to do it. Starling was bound to be on-edge due to the situation and she was faster on the draw than he was – though he would never admit it to her. Shifting from one foot to the other, Vale waited in the silence that followed his knock, listening for footsteps.

A thirty second wait brought no response to his knock. He tried again. After about ten seconds, he heard movement.

The footsteps were soft, but too fast for the pregnant Starling. It must be her contact, thought Vale, shoving his hands in his pockets and attempting to look non-threatening. He was suddenly very aware of his appearance; the dark circles under his eyes, the mussed hair and the air of desperation. He carried a gun, looked like a thug and was about to come face-to-face with a man from the criminal underworld. If he did not try to look friendly, there was a good chance this could end with him being shot.

The footsteps reached the door, paused for a moment, then Vale heard the scraping sound of a lock being undone. Relieved, Vale forced a smile onto his face, getting ready to greet the contact.

The door opened.

"Hello?"

For a few seconds, Vale just stared, then panic swelled up from within him and his heart dropped away. Whatever he had been expecting when he opened the door – whoever he had thought Starling's contact might have been – he had not been expecting this. Standing across from him, wearing civilian clothes and freshly shaved, was the man he and Starling had spent the last few weeks chasing. Victor Mendez, dressed in a Four Seasons' bathrobe, screwdriver in hand and confused expression on his face.

Vale's heart sank deeper in his chest.

Somehow, against all odds, his day had got even worse.

. . .

One floor above Vale and Mendez, Starling's day was getting better.

Having woken to find herself face to face with her sleeping lover, Starling's heart was light. Even her early morning rise could not dampen her spirits. Half six in the morning seemed a much more human time to awaken, when you awakened beside another living creature. Leaving her lover to sleep, Starling had staggered dozily to the shower, standing under the magnificent torrents for a little longer than was necessary, before wrapping herself head-to-toe in fluffy white towels and returning to the bedroom.

She dried herself, watching her lover sleep, wondering to herself how exhausted he must have been to sleep through her movements. Years spent in prison had made him cautious about sleeping when there was someone else awake in the room. In their earliest days together, he had waited until she was asleep before settling down himself and had always woken before her in the mornings. Now, however, his body was relaxed, his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell with perfect cadence. Dropping her towels, Starling padded over to the bed and flopped down beside him again.

His eyelids twitched, eventually sliding upwards to reveal huge black pupils, surrounded by a thin sliver of maroon iris.

"Mornin'." She said cheerfully, because there was nothing that annoyed him more than her early rising.

Her lover watched for a moment. Then, he stretched out, throwing one arm over her and reeling her in to his chest.

"Hey!"

His skin was incredibly hot. With her skin being freshly cleaned, Starling wondered if his scent would rub off on her. Though it was not detectable, by anyone who she would see today, there was something a little exciting and dangerous about the thought. Her, in the FBI, with his scent on her skin, the trace of his kisses down her face.

They clung together, renewing their movements of the night before. The Doctor had awoken ready to attend to her, his erection pressing hard into her stomach. Starling wriggled around, making a show of trying to escape his grasp while knowing such attempts were futile. Even if she had really wanted to escape him, his arms were too strong for her. And she didn't really want to. There was nothing she would like more, in the world, than to stay here with him, and later that day leave this place and never come back. She would leave all her belongings, without a thought. She would leave Gil with Vale (because she knew he would be happy there, with Gil Two) and she would leave Mapp without saying goodbye (because goodbyes were impossibly hard, and she knew Mapp would be happy there, with Vale). She would leave everything behind and just run with him. They would find a home, somewhere – there must be a sanctuary in the world for people like them – and they would live out the rest of their days with somewhere to return to, that was just theirs.

But there was another aspect, which held her wild thoughts of escape on a tight chain. Mendez was sitting downstairs, decoding a hard drive which held information that could convict a killer, a corrupt government official. If she left now, and Woodley went unpunished, more might die. And Starling knew, even in the thrills of her lovemaking, that her conscience would never let her forget that. Still, for the next thirty minutes, the world was hers and Hannibal's.

She inched a little closer, pressing her face into his skin, rolling and rubbing and finding pleasure in her body's connection with his. One thing which had always delighted her about Hannibal was the way he was never too quick to proceed to sex, when there was pleasure to be had elsewhere. Now especially – perhaps because he was still half asleep – he seemed perfectly content to let her play with him. Because seeing him twitch in response to her slightest touch was maddeningly empowering and because she did not particularly want to get all sweaty again, Starling was perfectly content just to play with him too.

The two lovers shifted around each other, until they found a comfortable position and rhythm, and he massaged her neck while she stroked him to climax against her side. Afterwards, they stretched and yawned and curled against each other some more.

Starling watched her lover.

His eyes were half closed, dark lashes almost shielding maroon from view. He looked quite happy to fall back asleep again, wrapped in their post-coital embrace. She wished she could do the same, but the time was fast approaching when she had to get dressed and go. It wouldn't be long before she saw him again, she reminded herself. If she saw him again, that was. It was the 'if' that bothered her. Starling sighed, dragging her eyes one last time up and down her lover's lethargic body. She would have to be careful.

A knock at the door stirred them both to alertness.

Starling bristled immediately but Lecter calmed her, rubbing gently on her shoulder.

"I have breakfast coming up at seven-thirty."

Sure enough, when she checked it, the clock read seven-thirty. Starling shifted herself off the bed and wrapped herself in the bathrobe hanging over a nearby chair. She had not realised until he had mentioned food, but she was ravenous. She had not eaten supper the previous night because of her and Vale's little trip to Senator Woodley's house. She had only had a bag of potato chips for lunch. A plate of pancakes, or – better – waffles and syrup would be amazing right now. And fruit, lots of it. Starling was pretty sure the Doctor would have ordered something nice and she was anxious to get her pick of it. Telling her lover that she would fetch the food, Starling tied the bathrobe tight around herself and ruffled her hair into place.

As she walked back through the connected living area, Starling's mind swam with thoughts of breakfast goods – maybe there would be pastries, man she would kill for a Danish right now. She reached the hotel door almost salivating. Raising the lock, she slid it open and seized the door handle. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she was already chastising herself for not checking who it was, first, but she was really hungry and the arrival of the hotel staff was right on schedule. Who else could it possibly be, anyway?

Starling pressed down on the door handle and pulled the door back towards her.

Standing in the hallway was Benedict Vale...

And he was not bearing waffles.

. . .


	59. Chapter 59

_Chapter 59 – No Goodbye_

.

Vale stood and stared at Starling and Starling stood and stared at Vale. For a good few moments, neither spoke. Then both spoke at once.

"I've just been downstairs to meet your "contact". Why the hell is your phone off, Starling? You have no idea what's been going on out there; we're in such deep shit, they've got Mapp!"

"I was going to tell you about Mendez, I swear. How the hell did you even find us here? And-," Starling frowned. "Hang on, what? Someone's got Mapp where?"

Starling shook her head, pulling her bathrobe tighter around her. She was so utterly taken aback at finding Vale outside her door, that half of her mind was still focussed on the waffles she had expected a bellboy to bring up. It took a good few seconds to rearrange her thoughts to process Vale's words.

What did he mean someone 'had Mapp'?

"Well I don't know where, do I? They took her from the car, last night. They've abducted her. It's all to do with..." Vale rambled off, his words careening out his mouth at such a pace that Starling's sleep, barely-functioning brain could not quite keep up.

_They've got Mapp_ – the words seemed to be echoing on repeat, inside her skull.

Someone had Mapp. Who, where and why were the first questions that leapt to Starling's mouth. But they were not the most important.

"When?" she asked him, stepping forwards half into the hallway.

"It was last night." Vale rubbed his hands over his close-cropped hair. He must have been in some high state of panic. He was shaking like a leaf. "We were on our way in to the Hoover building. We stopped for coffee at that places she likes and she stayed in the car. When I got back, she was gone. Then I got this call on my cell phone, and it was from her number." Her partner's eyes raised to meet hers, wide and desperate. "It was this guy. He called himself Brian, said he worked for Woodley. He told me they had Mapp and they want to trade her for the disk. He said we have until six o' clock this evening, to arrange a meeting, or... they execute her."

The world froze. Starling felt as if her heart and lungs had stopped in her chest. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She could not breathe, let alone talk. Her plan, her carefully constructed plan, was imploding around her. Woodley's men had Mapp – her Mapp – her best friend, who had done so much for her and did not deserve to be messed up in all of this.

"Shit... holy shit."

The first question that leapt to her mind was how anyone could have possibly linked Mapp to her crime. To link Mapp, they must have realised that either Starling or Vale was involved and Starling had been so incredibly careful... What could they possibly have linked to her and Vale? She had parked in an area with no cameras, never parked in the neighbourhood beforehand, in case her car was recognised. As she lifted her fingers to her mouth, Starling realised that her hands were shaking, just like Vale's. Her knees were shaking too.

"Who..." she swallowed, trying control the tightening in her throat. "Who took her?"

"I don't know. Some asshole called Brain, who works for the Senator." Vale waved a hand as if that wasn't important. "What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?" he almost wailed, "I've been trying to get in contact with you all night. You were supposed to come back after your meet."

Starling did not have an answer for that one. She could hardly tell him the truth but she had not bothered to think up a feasible lie, as she hadn't thought she would be missed, until morning. She had assumed he would be holed up in bed with Mapp.

Dee...

Starling stood, staring blankly into the air between herself and her partner. It was not like the movies. No montage of Mapp flickered across her mind, there was no music, or flashing lights. Starling's mind was filled, only, with a dreadful sinking feeling; nausea, compounded by fear, compounded by blinding rage and confusion. And more fear. Fuck. She was fucked, screwed and buggered to shit and back. God, she was going to have to turn herself over to the FBI, ask for their help. What should she do? Should she run?

Starling shook her head violently, berating herself for even thinking it. No, she couldn't run. Hells no – this was Mapp – her Mapp – she could not turn her back. It was her fault that Mapp and Vale were in this mess. She could not leave her. She needed to do something. She needed to help her. Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

"Why didn't you come home?" Vale asked again and Starling felt almost glad, for something other than her own tortured thoughts to fill her ears.

She shook her head again, hoping a response would fall out automatically.

"I, uh... I..."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Vale snapped. His eyes were accusing. He blamed her.

Starling mentally slapped himself. Of course he blamed her, this was all her fault!

"I... I don't know." She held onto the doorframe hard, swaying in her dressing gown. She didn't know what to say, do. She couldn't move forwards or backwards because she was trapped between fear of Hannibal being discovered and Mapp being captured. "It wasn't worth coming back," she tried to bluster out an excuse. "I was going to have to be here tomorrow morning, to see how Mendez got on." She had no idea how the words coming out her mouth were being formed. She certainly was not in control of them. "How... how did you find me?"

"Sheer fucking luck and a lot of phone calls." Vale ran his hands shakily through his hair. "Fuck, Starling, why didn't you tell me your contact was Mendez? And what the hell are we supposed to do?"

She shook. Her knees felt literally weak.

"I don't know." Her reply was small.

"Let me in." Vale growled, bad temperedly.

She wavered, for a moment, about to let him in. Then, she remembered why she was standing firm in the doorway. Ignoring his request, she expanded on her last answer.

"I didn't tell you about Mendez because I didn't want to incriminate you any more than was necessary." She shook her head. Her thoughts were running in agonizing circles, imagining all the horrible places Mapp could be right now, because of her. "I'm so sorry, Vale, I had no idea this could happen – I still don't see how it could have. I was so careful, so fucking careful." Her forehead was contracted into a deep frown, her head near to exploding with the stress of it all. She couldn't understand. How could they know the disk had been taken by them? "I just don't get how this could happen. They couldn't see us. We parked out of range of the cameras. I was so careful..."

She had taken every precaution. Even if someone had seen them on the night, Vale was wearing a mask. How could they possibly have identified him?

"Did you forget about one of the cameras?" she asked Vale. "When you went in?"

"No!"

"Did you go there before last night?"

"Well yeah, once. Right after you told me what was going on," he waved his hand. "The night you told me you were working with Mendez and you knew how to get evidence against Woodley. I wanted to see the place for myself, to think things through. Don't worry, I parked far enough away."

Her heart plummeted through her chest like a stone. Vale had been there before. She knew, from Mendez, that the Senator's security men kept a record of cars which had been spotted parking in the area more than once. They were particularly anal about it.

"Did you park away from the cameras?" she asked Vale. It seemed an obvious question, but she had to.

"Yeah, I checked up the information you gave me and avoided parked across the street, further down."

Starling felt bile rise in her throat.

"On the right?"

Vale nodded.

That was it. That was how Woodley had figured it out. Starling cursed to herself. Those neighbours had security cameras and she knew, from Mendez, that Woodley had access to their footage. He had used it, once before, to find out who was shooting paparazzi shots of his wife. He was surely not above using it again, to scan the neighbourhood for their burglars. Starling had been so careful, parking in dead spots, using different routes and cars when she cased the place. But if Vale had gone down in his own car, the day before the robbery and parked right down the road, in full view of his neighbour's cameras... all was lost.

"Shit, Vale, how could you be so fucking stupid!" her words came out in a harsh torrent, surprising even herself. "They have access, damn it."

"They have what?"

"Access," Starling bit, "to his neighbour's cameras. Damn it... I thought I told you that."

"You didn't... I don't remember you ever..." Vale's eyes narrowed and, for a moment, Starling was not sure if he was going to hit cry or step across and slap her.

As it turned out, he did neither. He just stood there, his eyes growing steadily more distant as the realisation of what he had done hit him. Guilt descending was a horrible feeling. That, Starling knew very well. It took only a couple of seconds for her to feel ashamed at having yelled at him.

"Vale... I'm sorry. I thought I told you. Maybe I didn't, I don't know... It doesn't matter now." She swore at herself and they stood in silence for a moment, Starling wracking her brains for ideas to get Mapp back. She was drawing blank after blank. "I'm so sorry..."

Her throat was tight and her hunger had given way to extreme sickness. She felt like she might double over there and then, in the doorway, and spew her guts out. She was exposed – everything was going wrong – Mapp was in danger. Fuck.

"Yeah, well, turns out you've not been telling me a lot of stuff." Vale muttered, from behind his hands.

The anger had faded from his voice, replaced now with extreme weariness. He must have been up all night trying to find her. Starling cursed herself for having to come and visit Hannibal – having to switch her phone off. Could her damned personal needs not have waited a fucking day? Why had she been so selfish?

"I know, I should have told you about Mendez." She muttered, softly.

"And the guy you're sharing a room with," Vale asked, glancing past her into the hotel room. "Is he in on this too?"

Starling faltered. She had not realised that she had any surprise left in her, but when he referred to Hannibal, obliquely as it was, her stomach dropped a little further into her abdomen. Her fingers tightened their hold on the wooden doorframe, her knuckles now white.

"What?"

If Vale knew about Hannibal, why had he not reacted yet? Something did not add up. Starling hovered, between the knowing and the unknowing – not quite sure if the depths of her betrayal had been made obvious yet.

"The guy who checked into this room a couple hours before you, some guy who calls himself Mr Smith. Who is he, Starling? Another one of your little black market contacts? Did he rig you up with all the gear for yesterday's heist?"

Starling felt a rush of relief. He did not know about Hannibal. Vale must have misinterpreted her relief as a smile, because it prompted another explosion of indignance, on his part.

"Fuck you, Starling. You think this is funny, some sort of game, perhaps? What the hell's going on, here? I think I have the right to know – you've dragged me into this, up to my fucking balls!"

"I _dragged_ you in?" righteous anger rose within her.

Somebody moved loudly in a room nearby and Starling suddenly remembered where they were – and that screaming like this would wake the neighbours. She tempered herself, reigning in her voice to an acceptable decibel.

"Just leave it, Vale." She warned him, in a hiss.

"Who is Mr Smith?"

"Nobody. Just a guy I paid to take the room for me. He left last night."

"Liar." Vale said, his eyes flashing. "What will it take for you to tell me the truth, Starling? He's still in there, with you."

Starling swallowed.

Vale took a step closer, wry smile on his lips.

"Yeah, it's hard to keep secrets when the guy looking for 'em has a computer nerd at gunpoint. Mendez hacked into the register downstairs. Mr Smith registered at the desk around the same time Mendez did and entered this room, using his door key, about ten minutes later. Now, this door had only opened once more, tonight, and that was to let you in. So, that means he's still inside."

There was an almost crazed look in his eyes.

"Vale..." Starling gripped the edge of the doorframe a little harder. "You didn't hurt Mendez, did you?"

Vale threw her a disgusted look.

"No, of course I didn't hurt him, Clarice. Damn it, he's waiting downstairs. But he said you were up here with someone and he wouldn't tell me who – not even with a Glock pressed against his skull. So I'm guessin' this isn't one of your 'good' bad secrets."

Starling did not reply. She was searching her mind for any excuse, for any reason she could make up for keeping the other occupant of her room a secret. She could come up with nothing. Rubbing her forehead, Starling wondered how a day could turn so suddenly awry. Just ten minutes ago, she was curled up in bed with her lover. Now her best friend's life, her lover's life, and her freedom were all hanging in the balance.

"He's another contact," she eventually muttered, avoiding his gaze. "Someone I knew privately before this whole thing."

"And is he still here?" Vale asked, quietly.

"No." Starling lied.

"Clarice?"

"Okay, yes."

"Is he involved in all of this?"

"No."

The two Agents stared each other out for a full minute. Both of them knew that Starling was lying. She stood in the doorway as if she was defending it. He knew that she was lying. She knew that he knew she was lying. The moment hung, then broke.

Vale stepped forwards and pushed Starling to one side, storming past her into the room.

"Vale, please!" she begged him from the doorway, hoping against all hope that he would turn back.

He did not. Driven by thoughts of his captured girlfriend, he stormed around the living room, glancing around corners and behind the sofas, searching for Starling's hidden companion. Starling watched him go, her hands shaking as she closed the hotel door behind them. Vale disappeared through towards the bedroom and Starling closed her eyes, muttering a prayer under her breath. Maybe Lecter had found somewhere to hide?

"Vale, will you just goddamn drop it?" She heard Vale rustling through the bedroom, stepping over strewn clothes. His shoes sounded hard off the marble floor, as he searched the bathroom, then soft as he headed back into the bedroom. "God damn it, Vale, just drop it!"

There was no noise of anyone discovering anyone else. Starling strode through after her colleague, starting to wonder if maybe Lecter had slipped away, undetected, after all.

She arrived just in time to see Vale crumple to the ground.

_Shit_.

Hannibal Lecter was standing to one side of the bed, barefoot and wearing only a pair of trousers, and Starling had never seen him look to feral. He had Vale kneeling on the floor before him, the Agent's arms pinned behind his back, his folded legs trapped beneath Lecter's foot. In his spare hand, the Doctor held a knife across the Agent's throat. Both were breathing hard, neither looking at one another. Both were looking at her.

The moment was held in stasis. It was as if each knew what the other wanted to say, but nobody dared break the silence, for fear of cementing the events in reality. Agent Clarice Starling should not have been sharing a hotel room with Hannibal Lecter. Agent Benedict Vale should not have been working secret operation with the aforementioned Agent, involving an escaped convict and a theft from a government official. And Hannibal Lecter should have been locked up safe in a prison cell somewhere. Yet here they all were. And nobody knew what the hell to do about it.

Starling was the first to speak, though it was barely a whisper.

"Hannibal, please don't hurt him."

Vale's eyes fixed on hers with such utter betrayal, such hurt, that she had to look away. When Starling shifted her eyes over to her lover, she found that his expression was not so very unlike Vale's.

"I didn't mean to bring him here." She told him, then turned to address Vale. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't want you to find out like this."

Neither man said anything, but Vale gave a little struggle in her direction. In the process of restraining him, the Doctor pressed his knife more firmly against the younger man's skin. A line of blood trickled down Vale's neck, falling into the crevice of his collarbone and collecting there. The Agent's eyes lit with fire, but he made no noise.

"Don't fucking hurt him!" Starling whispered, taking a step closer to her lover and his captive. "Please, H, just let him go."

"He's armed." Lecter eventually spoke, nodding down at Vale's hip. "Take the gun and I'll let him go."

Slowly, so as not to upset the delicate balance of events that was unfolding, Starling walked over and knelt beside Vale. Reaching under his jacket, she felt along his belt until her hands reached his gun holster. She unclipped it and slid the Glock free.

Eye to eye, the hurt in Vale's face was heart-breaking, but Starling had known she'd have to face it sooner or later. She was not sorry for what she had done, but she was incredibly sorry that it hurt Vale so. Vale had only ever been kind and good to her – and to Mapp. She just wished he could have gone on not knowing about her lie until the end of his life.

Vale swallowed, the movement causing the knife to cut deeper into his skin. Starling looked piteously over at Lecter, who did not blink.

"Check him." He demanded, quietly.

"Oh for gods sake…" Exhaling heavily, she looked back down again, to Vale. "You carrying anything else?" she asked.

Vale did not answer.

"I'm gonna check your pockets, okay?" She felt through the jacket, along the lining, then patted down his legs, discovering an ankle holster and removing the weapon there too. Carrying the two firearms, she stood, with difficultly, and backed away again. "There." She told Lecter, a tad cantankerously. "You c'n take the knife away now"

She knew that Lecter was only doing what he had to do. Vale was an FBI agent and Lecter was an escaped convict. He had to protect his interests. The fact that he did it so emotionlessly perturbed her, but the darker aspects of our loved ones always do.

"Please?" She asked again.

Lecter nodded silently and folded the knife, stowing it in his trouser pocket. Then, he took a step back from Vale's kneeling body, folding his hands on front of him.

Vale did not try to get up. He had an armed serial killer at his back and said serial killer's armed girlfriend at his front. He knew he was not going anywhere fast and was wise enough not to aggravate the situation. Despite the fury in his eyes, his breathing was regulated. He was in control. That fact calmed Starling. What she had dreaded, above all else, was a bloody fight between the men – partly because she didn't know who would win.

"Vale," Starling began, "I am so, so sorry you had to find out this way-,"

"Is _he_ in on this Mendez thing?" Vale eventually asked, without looking around at the Doctor.

"Yes." Her words did not seem to reassure him. If anything, his eyes grew steelier. "He's been watching Mendez for me." Starling explained.

"How touching."

Starling lifted her eyes to Lecter's, then away again.

"You helped them both escape. Lecter wasn't a mistake."

It was more of a statement than a question, but Starling nodded regardless.

"You were never a captive?"

"No."

"So, you are... what?" he looked almost disbelieving.

"I..." Starling glanced over at Lecter. He did not seem to want to help her with an answer, so she just swallowed and said, "It's complicated. I don't think you would understand."

"I think you're right, there."

They all stood for a few moments in silence, then Starling spoke again.

"What are you going to do?" she asked Vale. Though her voice was steady, her heart was nowhere near.

"Fuck it, Starling" he snarled, "what do you mean, what am I going to do? I don't think I have any choices here. Your fucking cannibal boyfriend has a six inch knife pointed at the back of my neck!"

"You do have choices." Starling took a tentative step towards him.

The time had come to be brave and bold. A thought had occurred to her, in the instants before, as the three had stood, facing off across the luxury hotel room. She had an idea and it might save Mapp, but they were going to have to work together.

"Right now," she told him breathlessly. "Woodley's people think you're behind all of this. They think you're working alone, to blackmail Woodley, right?"

Vale nodded.

"Well," Starling nodded, "surely that gives us an advantage." Walking over to Vale, she handed him back his weapon. Both Lecter and Vale looked at her with startled disbelief. "You have a choice; you can either work with me, or against me. But if you want to rescue Mapp, then you're going to need mine and Mendez's help." She placed the gun into Vale's hand, holding on to it until he met her eyes, then letting go.

Three people's breaths filled the room. Vale's fingers curled around the butt of the gun. It felt like a moment of decision.

"Well, there is nothing I would like more than to shoot _him_ and turn you over to the police, right now." Vale said quietly.

Starling had never heard his words so cold, so bitter and full of hatred. She almost shivered to hear them now, from a man she had come to think of as her friend.

"But I can't see Dee killed," Vale stood, lifting his chin defiantly in Starling's direction. "I can't see her die because of your sick lies."

Starling's throat felt suddenly painfully tight, but she swallowed it back and nodded.

All of them stood about for a few moments.

"Okay, well, we should go downstairs and speak to Mendez." Starling eventually managed. "He'll be wondering where we are."

"Is _he_ coming?" Vale nodded behind him, still refusing to refer to Lecter by name.

"No, he's not." Starling shook her head and turned to the Doctor. "Hannibal, you should go."

His forehead tightened, his eyes flickering about her face.

"Please, it's not safe here." She muttered.

"And is he safe?" Lecter inclined his head towards Vale.

"Nothing's safe." She attempted a smile but failed dismally. "I'll be watchin' my back. You worry 'bout yours."

Their eyes locked, Lecter's gaze was intense. This was the moment where he might have said goodbye to her, but something in his eyes told Starling that was not going to happen, this time. They had said goodbye too many times in the past to repeat the process. It did not really matter. Both knew how the other felt. There was no need to utter it again out loud – especially as the third person in the room would have tainted it with derision.

"As you wish."

Vale muttered something under his breath and looked away, his mouth twisted in disgust.

Ignoring him, the Doctor walked over to the bed, pulling on his shirt and his shoes. Gathering the rest of his clothing over one arm, he walked to the doorway and stood in it, watching Starling. His lips parted, as if he were going to say something, then he thought better of himself. Giving her one last look, he turned and walked off through the living area and Starling heard him exit the hotel room. The door closed noisily behind him. Listening to him go, Starling wondered if their no-goodbye was to be their final one.

Pushing the thought from her head, she turned back to Vale, who was standing with his gun hanging at his side. His eyes were fixed on her with something between fury and desperation.

"Well, holy fucking shit Starling."

Starling couldn't have said it better herself.


	60. Chapter 60

_Chapter 60 – Deus ex machina_

.

The argument that followed, between the Agent Clarice Starling and Agent Benedict Vale, was harsh and loud and continued all the way through her getting dressed, their progress downstairs, and into Victor Mendez's hotel room.

All the way, Starling hissed at her partner to keep his voice down. Vale, however, was having none of it. He could not believe it. How could Starling, who had played his friend so beautifully, turn out to have betrayed him? The woman beside him, knocking at the door to Mendez's hotel room, was a liar and a traitor. She had associated with escaped convicts – 'associated', of course, being a euphemism, she was fucking with an escaped convict. She was banging Hannibal the fucking cannibal Lecter!

Vale was furious and disgusted. He was pretty sure that it was only his conflicting emotions, of exhaustion and terror – on behalf of Mapp – which had prevented him from shooting Starling on the spot.

For her part, Starling was keeping calm. She had not yet looked him in the eye, but she was doing her upmost to appear in control. Her forehead was smooth and her breathing regulated. Nevertheless, Vale noticed a vein throbbing in the side of her neck. It was a nervous tick, something he had seen them before, in the field. Today, the stakes were considerably higher than anything they had worked on before. She should be nervous.

As they descended the final few stairs, and stormed down the hall towards Mendez's hotel room door, Vale knew he should say something – they were going to be working together, after all, they had to be talking. He could not, however, bring himself to show even the slightest hint of friendliness. She had betrayed him. She had dragged him into this and gotten Mapp involved.

Well, he had sort of helped with that...

The thought that he was somewhat responsible for Mapp's current predicament made everything so much worse. In retrospect, Vale realised it was a stupid thing to do, to have driven to Woodley's house to case the place himself. Of course, he had followed basic security measures. He had taken an evasive route and parked further down the road but, in retrospect, he should have taken far more precautions. How could he not have foreseen that Woodley would have access to his neighbour's security cameras? How could he have been such an idiot?

With a heavy sigh, Vale tried to banish these failings from his mind. He needed to focus now – not on what Starling or he had done – but on how they were going to overcome the situation they had found themselves in and save Mapp. And, by God, did they ever need to work fast. The next few hours would determine the fates of them all.

Starling knocked again on the hotel room and Mendez answered after about thirty seconds, looking even more nervous than he had last night, when he had spotted Vale standing on the doorstep. Starling gave him a nod and a half-smile in greeting. After leading Starling and Vale inside, Mendez closed the hotel door and went to stand next to the hotel window – the position furthest from Vale. Perhaps he sensed Vale's animosity towards him, for keeping the identity of Starling's 'other contact' a secret, or perhaps he simply did not trust him. It was probably a combination of both.

Vale narrowed his eyes as the Mexican chewed his fingernails. He did not particularly trust Mendez either.

"So, what the hell are we going to do?" he snapped. He was in no mood for screwing around the subject and time was short.

Starling folded her arms across her chest.

"We are going to fight them and win."

"And how the hell are we supposed to do that?" Vale asked, testily.

"The disk is the reason we're in this mess, but it's also our way out." Starling licked her lips. "We can use it to get Woodley where we want him. Then we strike and get Dee back."

Her tone was of false bravado. Whatever haphazard plan she had formed, on their way down from Lecter's hotel room, she was not entirely sure of it. To her credit, however, she managed to contain the shaking in her voice. Placing her hands on either side of her huge, pregnant belly, she steadied herself.

"It will work."

Vale was not as confident.

"And _how_ exactly will it work?"

"We set up a meeting with Woodley's man; say we'll bring the disk. Then we split up and you go to the meeting, while I take the disk and Mendez to the Bureau. We have them track you by the GPS on your phone, to the meeting place, then we have them send Tactical Assault in and save Mapp."

Vale snorted.

"Are you insane?" He shook his head. "Go into the Hoover building? They'll throw away the key. By the time we're out of handcuffs, Mapp could be dead!"

"It's our only chance."

"So we just walk in the front doors with an escaped convict and beg them to help get us out of this mess?"

"Not exactly." Starling shifted. "We have to tell them that Mendez came to us with information on Woodley. I'm gonna bet the Senator's not reported his missing disk to the police, so that means the FBI have to treat it as Mendez's property and viable evidence. We tell Pearsall that Woodley discovered what was going on and captured Mapp, to force us to hand Mendez and the evidence of his corruption back to him."

"And you're okay with this?" Vale asked Mendez. It would almost definitely mean the Mexican going back to prison. Having committed breaking and entering offences, theft and escaping federal custody, he would go down for five-to-ten – best case scenario.

Mendez nodded.

"It was always our back-up plan, Vale." Starling told him quietly. "If there was no way to incriminate Woodley from the outside, Mendez was willing to do whatever it took. We're just going to tweak the plan a little. It could work – will work." She corrected herself.

"Fuck it, Starling." Vale exhaled heavily. "We don't have time. We need to be better..."

Vale lapsed into silence. His mind was full of horrible images of Mapp being tied up in the trunk of a car, Mapp with tie-wraps around her wrist and cuts on her beautiful skin. He could imagine the look of terror in her eyes, white around the corners in fear. He could imagine her cries so vividly that it made his body twitch and burn with anger. He hated this – not least everything that Starling had done and his part in Mapp's capture – but he hated his helplessness now. He had never felt so useless!

Across the room, Starling was pacing up and down, between the door of the en-suite and the one into the hotel hallway. Her breaths were a little faster than usual. Despite the cold in the air, Vale could see a hint of sweat across her forehead. The hairs around the crown of her head and the nape of her neck were slightly damp too. Her perspiration drew his attention to the skin just beneath the collar of her jacket. Squinting, Vale could see the brushed red of a bruise on her skin. It was marked with darker points – teeth marks, he realised, with a hint of dizzy exhilaration.

Despite his disgust, he had to admire her tenacity. To have Hannibal Lecter just inches from her jugular...

_Did she enjoy it?_

Fuck it, Vale tempered himself. He was not interested in what Starling did in her own time. Vale did not want to think about his partner and her lover, wrapped around each other in a sordid coital clinch. It was disgusting, unreal. Lecter's mouth against the back of her neck meant they screwed like animals.

Vale gave a shiver and Starling looked up, eyebrow quirked in worry.

"Vale?"

"We need to do better, Starling, Mapp doesn't deserve to get caught up in our stupid mistake." Vale pushed hurriedly back into conversation.

"The plan will work," Starling told him gently. "I'll take Mendez in alone. You call this guy and arrange a meeting." she told him, quietly. "Tell him you need Woodley to be there when you make the exchange, tell him that is non-negotiable. He'll agree with it, because he thinks he's holding all the cards, right now. He definitely doesn't think you'll be walking away from this."

Vale knew that. He knew that the meeting only had two purposes. The first was to get the disk back and the second was to silence him. Despite the assurances of Woodley's man, on the phone, Vale doubted they were planning to silence him with money. It was just not permanent enough. A black bag at the bottom of the Potomac was the sort of permanence Woodley's man was looking for. There was no way Vale would walk out of this meeting alive. Neither was it likely that Mapp would live through this. If Starling and Mendez's information was right, Woodley wasn't the sort to balk at killing one innocent woman – not for the greater good of Kade Woodley.

It was always the greater good, mused Vale, as he watched Starling. Every time the Bureau interviewed some fundamentalist, or serial killer, they invariably said the same thing; they did it for the greater good. The world needed less (insert here your chosen pet hate – Christians, abortionists, blonde-haired women –) and they were willing to help. Woodley may have been a powerful man, from a powerful family, but he was displaying the same human flaw as Vale had seen a hundred times before, down in the behavioural analysis unit. It almost made it worse – that such a common or garden criminal would be the one to end his and Mapp's lives.

"You want me to go to the meet?" he asked Starling, feeling resignation fill his soul like bitter lead.

She nodded.

"If you don't, Woodley's man will execute her."

Vale's eyes instinctively shut. He cleared his throat and forced them open again before replying.

"And what happens once they realise I don't have the disk?" Vale asked.

"You tell them your associate has it. Tell them that she's waiting at a safe distance and she'll come in once you call her. It allows you to keep your phone on, so we can pinpoint your location with the GPS." Starling explained. "Once you see Mapp is safe and sound, you call me. You tell them I'm gonna come in with the disk, but-,"

"-you come in with an assault team instead." Vale muttered, catching on.

"Exactly." Starling nodded. "You should call that guy back and arrange a meeting, as late as you can get it."

It sounded all nice and dandy, but exactly what would happen if Starling could not convince the Bureau to work with her on this one. What if Vale called Starling's number and nobody answered, because Starling was locked up in detention?

"He gave me until six." Vale told her, remembering the cool delight in Woodley's man's voice, as he had given his ultimatum. "Starling, do we even know who this guy is? He said his name was Brian."

"Brian Palden," Mendez spoke up, from his corner of the hotel room.

Both Starling and Vale looked over in surprise. The Mexican had not spoken since letting the Agents into the hotel room. Neither Starling nor Vale had expected him to, of course. In fact, Vale had expected the Mexican to leave, as soon as he found out that their mission was out the window. Mendez's tone, however, was not that of a man about to jump ship. He sounded like he wanted to help.

Vale could not help but feel a little surprised.

"And who is Palden, in all of this?" he asked the younger man.

"His advisor of the finances, senor." Mendez shrugged. "But I do not know about him. He does not speak much."

"Well he's speaking now. Advisor of finances my ass, he must be in this up to his neck." Vale ran one hand through his short-cropped hair. "So that's what we're going to do; split up and buy some time with Woodley while crawling back to the Bureau?"

"It's our best shot."

"Your best shot of escaping, too." Vale told her, darkly.

There was a pause.

Starling's eyes flashed dangerously and Vale felt momentarily guilty for what he had said. Then, he forced the emotion back beneath the surface. He had no cause to feel guilty. Starling deserved every thing she got. She had betrayed him, Mapp and the FBI. She had betrayed her country – what was to say that she wasn't going to run away with her sick cannibal lover, the moment Vale turned his back on her.

"If you're implying that I'm putting my own freedom above Ardelia's life," Starling said, her voice dangerously low, "then I'll put you straight real fast." Her eyes were like twin chips of ice. Vale felt them burn. "I love that woman." Starling continued. "She has been my friend longer than you've known either of us and she has stuck by me through everythin' that has happened. I would fight for her, kill for her and die for her. I would defend her to the end, Vale. So, don't you dare insinuate that I've got my own interests above hers, ya hear me?"

Vale tore his eyes away from his colleague's and paced a little faster.

Starling swallowed, giving herself a moment or two to calm down, before launching back into speech.

"I am going to take Mendez into the Bureau and they will detain me. And, I'm not going to lie to you," she bit her lip, "if we get Mapp back safe and sound, and I have the opportunity to get out of this and save my own skin, then I'm going to take it – but I would never risk her well-being just for my own freedom." Her eyes were resolute. "You've gotta believe me, Vale. I would never."

A few heartbeats passed, hard and loud in Vale's ears.

"Fuck."

It was not eloquent, but it was all he could manage and he spat it out with a great degree of force. An intoxicating mixture of disgust and anger was bubbling up within him. He wished there were some way he could get his mouth to cooperate – for his lips to form words which could accurately describe the rage he was feeling. Giving a funny little turn on his heel, Vale paced away from Starling and then back again. There was nothing he could say. There were no words left. He had thrown them all at her in that room, upstairs. He had told her what she believed in – who she loved – was wrong. She had told him she disagreed. There was nothing left to say.

"Vale..." She sounded incredibly tired. His name was more of a sigh, or a whisper, than a reproach. There was a hint of relief in it too.

Vale wondered whether – deep down – Starling might be a little glad that he now knew of her secret. God knows she had been carrying it alone for long enough.

"Okay," he began slowly, regulating his wildly fluctuating emotions. "We split up. I arrange a meeting with Woodley and tell you where it's going to be. Then I lay low."

"I go to the Bureau with Mendez and we beg Pearsall to give us access to Tactical Assault."

There was something bothering Vale about their plan – besides, of course, the great improbability of it all going down the way they expected it to. He frowned and paced a bit more, but it was actually Mendez who voiced the problem first.

"The Senator has men on the inside, senora."

"I know." Starling sighed and sat, heavily, upon the hotel bed. "I'll call ahead, ask to speak to A.D. Pearsall directly. I've known him since the Academy," she nodded to herself "and I'd bet my life he's not on the Senator's payroll."

Vale, who had heard Pearsall's opinions on politicians, silently agreed. But it was still a lot to be riding on.

"If his guys on the inside get wind we're bringing the disk in... they'll shoot her." he warned Starling, for what seemed the umpteenth time.

"We don't tell them we're bringing the disk in. We don't tell them squat, until we are in a secure room with Pearsall. Woodley doesn't know I'm involved, right?"

"Right." Vale confirmed, bitterly.

"Good." Starling sat up a little straighter. "That means his guy on the inside won't be watching for me, he'll be watching out for the disk. There's no reason for him to notice a lowly FBI agent bringing an anonymous source for questioning."

"Until he realises your 'anonymous source' is Mendez."

"I'll get Pearsall to sign us in personally, Vale. I'll keep it on the down-low. It's not perfect, but it's our only option... it'll buy us time."

He was not entirely convinced but, as Starling proceeded to point out, they didn't really have any other choices here, short of handing themselves and the disk over to get killed with Mapp.

Mendez eventually got up and told them he was going downstairs, to get breakfast. He offered to fetch food for them as well, but both Agents turned his offer down. As he left, pulling the door closed behind him, Vale turned to Starling.

"Is he going to run?"

Starling just shook her head and continued to sit in silence.

It was an extremely awkward ten minutes. They rehashed the plan and then sat in silence for a while, before launching back into argument. It started sanely enough – Vale calmly asking when it had started (whether she had been captured to begin with, or left Ardelia through choice) – but it soon reached fever pitch. Vale shouted, Starling swore. Voices carried loudly in the early morning, but neither Agent noticed until another noise caught their attention.

Outside the hotel room, the soft thudding of footsteps on carpet made them realise how clearly their neighbours must be able to hear them.

"Let's just not say anything to each other, until Mendez gets back." Vale advised, with a bitter look at his partner.

Starling made a noncommittal noise in agreement and set back to picking at the loose threads of her woollen pullover. Vale went back to pacing.

Mendez returned after another ten minutes, carrying a brown paper bag with a grease stain on one side. It had a fast food insignia on the side – definitely not from the hotel.

"I get it from across the street." Mendez eyed up the two Agents. "I thought I give you some more time to talk." The Mexican went over to the desk, unpacked a breakfast bagel and a donut, of indistinguishable variety, and began to eat.

Despite having not asked for food, the scent made Vale's mouth water. It had been a long twelve hours on an empty stomach. Starling seemed to be suffering from the same complaint, but her belly was more vocal about it. It whined loudly, ending in a grumble. Mendez looked sheepishly over at her and offered her a piece, but she waved him away with one hand. Nonchalant, of course – Vale's partner was an excellent liar. She was hungry, but she wasn't going to steal Mendez's last meal as a free man.

Mendez must have understood, because he did not push the matter, just sat and savoured his greasy bagel.

Once he was finished, the packed up the materials he had used to decrypt the drive with. Starling commented lightly that none of them were going to need them anymore, so she stowed them away in the back of the Mustang, while Vale and Mendez went to return the room key. They reconvened at Vale's pickup, all rubbing their hands against the chill in the air. The morning was colder than the night before and, in the cold light of day, their situation seemed even worse than it had done inside the hotel.

Around them, people were making their way to and from work. A trio of bankers were rushing past, discussing in loud voices about a large deal they were going to make, today, in the City. Vale wondered what it would have felt like, to be among them – among the millions of people who woke this morning without a partner who was sleeping with a convicted criminal and without a girlfriend being held as a hostage. He knew he was feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn't stop it. Angst gnawed at the back of his throat as the cold air bit at the front of it. He wanted to go home and curl up and to wake in the warm and the comfort of his bed, with Ardelia beside him, but...

...But life.

Vale sighed.

"Okay. I'll call this Brian guy. You go over to the Bureau and get in contact with Pearsall. You're going to need as much time as possible to get him on board here." Vale checked his watch and swore quietly. It was already eleven-thirty. They had six and a half hours.

"You need to arrange this meeting as soon as possible, Vale." Starling wound her scarf tighter around her neck and offered Mendez a spare pair of gloves from her pocket – absently, as if they were on friendly terms. The sight of it unnerved Vale somewhat. "Woodley's guys on the inside might not spot what I'm doing right away, but you know what it's like at the Hoover building. As soon as someone finds out I'm bringing in Mendez, everybody will know, and then it'll be a press-pit."

Everybody nodded, nobody meeting each other's eyes.

"This is a stupid plan." Mendez eventually spoke, not much more than a whisper.

Everybody nodded again.

"Well, I would rather get arrested sooner, rather than later, so I think we should probably make our move." Starling nodded Mendez towards the Mustang and he sloped off, without so much as a backwards glance at Vale. Starling, on the other hand, hung around a little longer.

She shifted from one foot to the other, her breath forming soft puffs in the air and her eyes all the bluer for the vibrant pink of her cheeks. Hung in the air, between them was the knowledge that, though their parting had come on a dire note, there had been good times. They should probably say goodbye.

Starling eventually settled on 'sorry' instead.

"I never meant for this, Vale, you gotta believe me." Her voice was soft, but not overly melancholy. "None of this was ever meant to happen." And when she said 'none', Vale was pretty sure she meant everything; Hannibal and her betrayal, just as she much as what had happened to Mapp.

Of course, 'sorry' did not mean she regretted her actions, but the sentiment was enough to make Vale's icy distance melt a little. It was so human, to seek and offer forgiveness. He could not help but feel infinitesimally better that she was sorry for the pain she had caused – inadvertently or not.

"Yeah, well, I guess this is goodbye." He tried to keep his tone cool, but a little fear crept in. "Even if we get through this, you're either gonna be in jail or on the run."

Starling's mouth curled into a little smile.

"Life sucks."

"You chose that life." He replied, quickly.

"Cause I love it."

And that was the end of the argument. She had used the 'love' word. No conversation and no amount of reason could be used to overturn the love word. Vale would never understand it, he could whine and rail against her decision; but Starling would love Lecter, no matter what anyone said. There was no reasoning with a woman who was willing to break a man out of jail. The best Vale could do was extract himself from the situation as soon as possible.

Still, it was harder than he had expected, to walk away.

He offered his hand. She took it, but softly, in more of a hold than a shake. Both were acutely aware that this could be it, that they might never see each other again. Now that the moment had come, it all seemed so surreal. Something in Vale still expected it all to turn around – for Mapp to have miraculously escaped and for Lecter to have died in a mysterious car accident, on his way from the hotel, taking Kade Woodley along with him. That crazy scenario was the only way anything would have had a hope to going back to normal.

Vale wondered, as Starling squeezed his hand, what he would do, if all that crazy shit came true. If Lecter and Woodley were out of the picture, and if Mapp was safe, would he hand her over to the Bureau or keep her secret?

The human mind was just too convoluted to fathom the thought for any longer. Vale let his hand slip free of Starling's, looking down at the floor. He was still burning with rage at her, his mind still spinning with confusion, but goodbye was important. He did not want to say goodbye with hate. Whatever she had done – whatever sins she had committed – they had been friends.

"You know, it's almost providence." Starling said bitterly, her eyes sad.

"What is?"

"If we catch Woodley after this, he goes down no matter what. It won't even matter if we have the disk – he's complicit in the kidnap a Federal Agent."

The words would have angered Vale, if her voice had not been so full of despair.

"A silver lining to our plot twist." He commented, darkly.

"More of a _deus ex machina_."

Vale quirked an eyebrow, but his partner did not elaborate. Both stood in relative silence. Starling eventually lifted it, with a short sigh.

"I need to go." She looked either on the verge of tears.

"I'll call you when I hear from Woodley." It was as much of a comfort as he could offer her. Vale shifted and rubbed his head again, ruffling through short strands of cropped hair. "Clarice," he began. "Once this is over, if we get Mapp, I'm gonna have to tell the Bureau-,"

"-We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Starling interrupted him, quickly.

Once this was over, if they survived, he would serve her up to the Bureau and she would go to prison. Clarice starling would give birth to a child, behind bars, a child who would never know its parents. She would get life for what she had done – not death, because the service did take care of its own, no matter what anyone said about it. Starling had said she would try to escape, but Vale could not see how she could. Mapp's life was dependent on her going in to the Bureau and once she entered, with Mendez, they would never let her out again. Not without an armed guard, anyway. Once this was over, Vale would never see her as a free woman ever again. She was giving up her freedom, to save Mapp.

Vale watched Starling and wondered what she would look like, with bars across her face. Would she go to high-security? Would they would give her Lecter's old cell? The thought was so bitter and contrived that even Vale, filled with rage towards his ex-partner, choked on it.

He turned and motioned towards the Mustang.

"We'd better go." Starling motioned to Mendez, who was watching them, his forehead resting against Starling's passenger window. He looked almost as depressed as Vale felt. "We need as much time as we can get."

"Well, goodbye then." How close his voice came to trembling. Goodbye seemed to final. "I'll call you later, to confirm everything."

Starling nodded.

Turning, Vale walked to the passenger side of the pickup, pulled open the door and swung himself into the front seat. He sat for a few moments, then flicked open his cell phone. Thumbing through the contact list, he reached Mapp's name and hovered over the call button. Across the car park, Starling was climbing into her car.

Taking a deep breath, Vale pressed call. The dial tone sounded loudly in his ear for thirty seconds, then the line crackled and Brian Palden's voice appeared on the other end.

"Good morning, Mr Vale. What can I do for you, today?"

.


	61. Chapter 61

_Chapter 61 – Job Satisfaction_

_._

Brian Palden had been awaiting the FBI Agent's call avidly. Quite apart from wanting this whole dirty situation to be over and done with, Palden had just purchased a rather snazzy hands-free set and was excited to try it out. The set consisted of a single earpiece and a microphone so small that Palden did not even notice it. It was incredible. Palden could remember when cell phones weighed as much as bricks. They costed the earth and it was impossible to transport them anywhere without breaking your back. Now, it was possible to threaten and extort your enemies without lifting your phone from your pocket, courtesy of a wireless networking.

Technology really was marvellous.

As the phone began to ring, Palden glanced over to the other side of the room. The Senator was standing by the window, arguing with his PA over what suit and tie he should wear to the evening's fundraiser. Palden decided not to bother him. Apparel was important.

Pressing the small answer button on the hands-free set, Palden leant back in his chair and answered the call.

"Good morning, Mr Vale, what can I do for you today?"

The man on the other end remained silent for a moment. Palden could almost hear him grinding his teeth. Palden smiled.

"You don't mind me calling you Mr Vale, do you? Your role as Agent is pretty much over, now."

"I have the drive," the FBI Agent growled. "We can meet at the house in Arlington."

"Oh, I don't think so, Mr Vale." Palden smiled, pleasantly. He was a great believer in being polite, until the situation required one not to be. "I will be choosing the venue." He reached over and keyed in an address into his computer. A map popped up. "I'll call you back in ten minutes. Ciao." He hung up without waiting for a reply.

On the other side of the room, Woodley was watching Palden with anticipation. His PA had presumably made a decision on the suit and tie, because she had left. They were alone. The Senator stood up and walking over to Palden's desk.

"Well?" he asked. "What's happening? Is the thief bringing the drive back?"

"Looks like it, sir."

Palden smiled and printed out his map. It would do for arranging the men around the complex, prior to the FBI Agent's arrival. Palden knew he had to be prepared for their meeting tonight. The FBI Agent must not escape, at any cost. Too many things were at stake. If the frightened would-be blackmailer ran to his employers, and the Bureau got hold of Woodley's financial records, then losing the election would be the least of their worries. Both Palden and his boss would probably go to jail.

"Good..." Woodley's eyes darted over to the computer screen, then back to Palden. "Good."

He clearly wanted to ask how Palden had persuaded the FBI Agent to cooperate, but knew his advisor would never tell him. Palden loved plausible deniability – it eradicated the need for so many awkward conversations.

"So when do we meet him?" Woodley eventually asked.

"_We_ do not, sir. I will meet him alone."

"Listen here, Brian, he insisted earlier that I was present at any exchange!"

Sir, I really must insist this time. You can't be implicated in all of this." Palden shot his employer a wan smile. "I'm sure you not being present will not be a problem. We are offering him rather a lot."

"I'm not convinced..."

"Sir, let me handle it."

After a few moments of grumbling, Woodley agreed.

Palden gathered up his files and his phone. He did not carry a weapon. He did not need to. He carried something more powerful than the threat of a bullet; the life of Agent Benedict Vale's lover. The thought gave him a brief thrill of delight.

"I'll have this all straightened out by the end of the day." Palden reassured Woodley.

"And the FBI man?"

"Oh, we won't be hearing from him again. I've made him a very compelling offer."

Woodley gave an indiscernible nod and waved him out. Palden made his way over to the office door, gathering his long coat and reaching for the door handle. The DC winters were perilously cold and he knew there had been snow predicted for the evening. On second thoughts, he took his scarf and gloves as well.

"Brian?" Woodley's voice called him back.

Palden turned.

"Yes, Senator?"

"I just wanted say, uh, thank you," the Senator nodded curtly. "There aren't many people I can trust to take care of these things, like you do. So, uh, thanks."

"Of course, sir." Another wan smile. "It is my job."

Palden pushed through the door and out to the corridor. He would call the FBI Agent on the way over to the location, set the meet for five. That should do fine.

Pulling on his long jacket, scarf and gloves, he made his way to the car lot, below the offices. Climbing into his silver SUV, Palden gave himself a moment to lean against the headrest and breathe in the scent of new leather. He had bought the car last week – a little Christmas present to himself. The stitched steering wheel felt pleasant against the palm of his hands and, even with an FBI agent and her oxygen tank packed into the trunk, the Mercedes drove like a dream. Palden started the engine and pulled out into the car lot, a faint smile tickling his lips.

He loved his job. He was good at it.


	62. Chapter 62

_Chapter 62 – Into the lion's den_

.

On the opposite side of town, Starling and Mendez had parked themselves in a cab stand, just down the street from FBI headquarters. The risk of sneaking him through security to get into the underground Bureau car park had been too high, so Starling had decided that their best option was to lurk in plain sight. Her cell phone had Clint Pearsall's FBI number up on the screen, ready to enter the moment she heard from Vale. They literally had no time to waste.

The soon to be ex-Agent was exhausted. The child within her seemed to be leeching all of her energy. She had never felt so tired in her life. Then again, she had never committed so many federal crimes. Laying her head back, against the headrest, Starling counted them off.

In the last two weeks, she had broken two men out of maximum security prison, aided and abetted their escape, stolen government secrets, broken into government property, broken into private property and stolen a Government official's private belongings using information stolen from the FBI mainframe and that was just the stuff anyone knew about. Starling gave a wry smile. Add that to her kill-count and she might actually have a more impressive rap sheet than the father of her unborn child.

God, what would she tell her child? What would she say, when her daughter asked about Starling's previous life and about her father? Would she lie? Would she tell a half-truth? Would she even get the chance to know her child as a person? That last question gnawed almost as deeply as the hunger. Starling knew that if today went according to plan, and they managed to save Mapp, there was a very good chance that she would spend the rest of her life in prison. And, if she did end up with life behind bars, Starling would not want it to be a prison with a crèche. Her child would grow up away from all of this – it was Starling's duty to protect that right, no matter how much it hurt her.

"Cheetos?" Mendez rustled a packet of cheese snacks.

Starling almost jumped for joy – not only for the sustenance, but for the welcome distraction from her increasingly horrific thoughts.

"Where did you get food from?"

"I brought all the snacks from the little refrigerator in the room." Mendez explained.

With a sigh, she helped herself to the Cheetos. If she was paying for the mini-bar snacks, she might as well enjoy them. "Got any chocolate?"

The situation was surreal. She was sitting in a car with an escaped prisoner, sharing out mini-bar snacks while her best friend was being held by a corrupt government official who had ties to a drugs cartel. Starling selected a bag of M&Ms from Mendez's backpack of foodstuffs. It was surreal enough almost to be humorous; I mean, how often did you get a corrupt official who actually had ties to a drugs cartel?

Crunching through the sugar-shell of a red M&M, Starling closed her eyes and tried to concentrate entirely on the flavours spreading across her tongue. The sweet of the sugar and the cocoa of the chocolate both sent rushes of endorphins to her brain. It felt inexplicably good. She selected a packet of potato chips to follow up the chocolate. This might be her last meal as a free woman.

The two sat, crunching their way through the mini-bar snacks, until the phone in Starling's pocket began to ring. She picked it up hurriedly, and lifted the handset to her ear.

"Vale?"

"It's on." The satellite connection was not the best. Vale's voice wavered and cracked a little. He was on the move somewhere. Starling could hear the noise of traffic and the radio in the background.

"When are you meeting him?" Starling swallowed down the last of her M&Ms.

"Five o' clock."

"Shit, Vale. That's not nearly enough time!"

"It's all I can get. Palden just called back and we're meeting in Ivy City, I think, in a disused building. I'm sending you an address, on my phone. Run a check on it."

Starling nodded as her cell phone bleeped. Keeping the satellite phone pressed to her ear, she flipped open the cover and read through the address. The disused building was, indeed, in Ivy City. Starling recognised the street as the home of several nightclubs. She passed the phone over to Mendez, muttering for him to get a map up of the area. He took the phone obligingly. Starling glanced over at the Hoover building.

"Okay. I'm going in with Mendez." Starling licked her lip. "Be careful out there."

"I'll give you a call before I go in."

Vale hung up.

Starling sat for about ten seconds, then threw herself into action. Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she crumpled up the snack wrappers and shoved them into the glove compartment. Then, seizing the door handle, she pushed her way out of the car. Mendez followed her, shifting nervously under the great letters of the FBI building. He had spent so long on the run from this enemy and now they were walking in the front door.

"You ready?" Starling asked him.

He nodded, though he was clearly anything but.

"Let's go, then."

They stepped out into the street, leaving the Mustang parked in the taxicab stand. It would be towed in under half an hour, but that was of minor interest to Starling. Today, her life would fall away from her, leaving her true self fully exposed. Her car was a part of the old life.

Guiding Mendez by the elbow, Starling made her way across the road and up to the front doors of the building. She had her pass at ready in one hand, her phone in the other. As she climbed the front steps, she pressed dial on her mobile, and raised it to her ear to listen to the dial tone. Within a minute, Clint Pearsall's secretary picked up.

"Good morning, this-,"

"-sorry, no time," Starling interrupted. "This is Special Agent Clarice Starling, I need to speak to A.D. Pearsall now!"

There was a momentary falter, but the woman agreed and transferred her through. The phone double rang then clicked. Clint Pearsall's voice appeared on the other end.

"Starling?" he sounded mildly confused. "I have a couple things on this morning, Clarice, can we make this quick?"

"Yes, sir, it's about Mendez."

A long sigh emanated from the phone.

"Where the hell has he been sighted, now?"

He had cause to sound annoyed. The sightings of Mendez had come in thick and fast, after his escape. Of course, they were all fake, but it was Pearsall's job to have staff run down every single one of them.

"Sir, I have him."

There was loud rustling over the phone. Pearsall was sitting bolt upright.

"What?"

"I have Mendez. We're not far away," an understatement, if there ever was one. "He's agreed to come in, but only if he can speak to you directly."

"Me?"

"Yes, sir. He has information on Kade Woodley which he claims will exonerate him." She paused, "Sir, it's pretty big and pretty ugly, but I have reason to believe he's telling the truth."

"And he came to you directly?"

"Myself and Agent Vale."

"Hell, Starling, why wasn't this turned in?" Pearsall snarled.

"Sir, I don't have time to go through it all on the phone, but he has reason to believe that Woodley had informants inside the Bureau. I should have come sooner," she continued, overriding Pearsall's 'that's preposterous', "but I was trying to get him into custody before I said anything. The problem is, Woodley knows Mendez is about to shop him and he's got one of our Agents, Agent Ardelia Mapp, to try and make us cooperate."

Pearsall blew out a heavy breath.

"Mapp's involved in this too? I thought she was in another section – how many of my Agents are you running, Starling?"

"Sir," Starling forced her voice to regulate. "She wasn't working with us, she was taken to get to me."

"Taken?"

Starling felt her credulity slipping further away.

"Yes sir."

"By Senator Woodley?"

"Sir, I know this sounds ridiculous, but I need to ask you to trust me." Starling swallowed. Now was the sucker punch – if this didn't get him, then nothing would. "Have I ever given you reason not to?"

"Starling..."

"I'm outside the Hoover building." Give him some trust and hope he gives some back. It was an old tactic. "You can send a goon squad out to pick us up, but then everybody will know Mendez is in custody, Woodley's man will tell Woodley, and Agent Ardelia Mapp will be shot at point blank range. I'm asking you to let me bring him in as an anonymous asset, for questioning. Please, sir, together we can save some lives, tonight."

Pearsall was silent for a good ten seconds. When he did speak, his voice was dangerously low.

"Do you have any idea of the weight of your accusation?"

"I have every idea, sir. I'm willing to lay down my career and my reputation for this." As much as her reputation was...

He sighed again, then Starling heard him stand.

"Bring him straight down to the interrogation suite. I'll assign you room B2 and call down to security, to allow you through."

A wave of relief flooded Starling, warming her skin. For the first time, hope sparked inside of her.

Perhaps, just _perhaps_, this was going to work.

"Meet me down there."

"You'd better hope this information is legit, Agent. You do now know how hot hell can get until you piss of Washington." Pearsall signed off.

Nodding to Mendez, Starling started off up the steps, one hand cradling her aching back. After this was all over – whether she went to prison or not – she was going to sleep for a whole day. Maybe two.

"Take off the hat," she ordered Mendez, "it makes you look shifty. And try to stay close." Dropping both of her phones back inside her pocket, she pushed through the front doors of the Hoover building. The familiar scent of wax polish filled her nose.

Mendez stayed in close behind her. As they stepped into the huge front lobby, he hissed in her ear.

"Agent Starling, what is the possibility they will not know when they see me?"

The lobby was swarming, of course, with FBI Agents; all black suits and plainly coloured ties. It was understandable that Mendez was frightened, but he really had no need to be. His face had been plastered alongside Lecter's, in the newspapers. The infamous nature of his neighbour meant that Mendez had been relatively ignored. Nobody would notice another asset being brought in for questioning – at least, Starling really hoped them wouldn't. Pearsall would make sure this went through as few people as possible.

They moved through the lobby, Starling's boots clacking loudly against the floor. Mendez shuffled along behind her, his footsteps almost silent in comparison. They moved over to security and Starling checked through her weapon and flashed her pass. A quiet word with the man with the security wand, and he checked the computer system, before allowing Mendez through with her. Pearsall was as good as his word. Mendez was given a visitor's pass and not even a second look by the guards. Pearsall's word was gold dust.

Still, Starling held her breath until they crossed the lobby and entered the elevators. Not until the doors pinged closed did she breathe easy.

Nobody else had entered the elevator with them. It was one of the advantages of carrying a serial killer's child. People had been avoiding Starling more and more as her belly got larger. It was harder to ignore her circumstance, and make polite conversation, when it was staring you in the face.

"This is going well, then?" Mendez said, breathlessly, as they ascended in the stuffy elevator.

"So far, Victor, so far."

They took the elevator up to the second floor and stepped out, side-by-side. For a moment, Starling thought that the men waiting for the elevator recognised Mendez, but they turned out only to be gawking at her girth. With a polite smile, Starling led Mendez on, down the hallway, to the interrogation suites. Mendez knew the drill. He had been here before, several times, although always in handcuffs and surrounded by an armed entourage of Agents. Today, the corridor outside the little dark room was empty. There were no press come to gorge themselves, this time, and no interrogators waiting in the eaves.

Starling led Mendez inside and took up position against the far wall.

"Bring the drive out."

Mendez did as he was told. He set down the drive on top of the table, eyes lingering on its rather dishevelled outer casing. They had stripped it back, to investigate the inside. The way it looked now, the drive did not inspire much confidence, but it was all they had. Starling exhaled deeply. She really hoped Pearsall bought into this.

.

As Starling and Mendez sat in the interview room, waiting for Pearsall, Vale was driving North. As he ventured further into the Ivy City neighbourhood, the streets were becoming more industrial. Warehouses cropped up around him. Huge trucks crowded around the front of some of the huge buildings. Others were all but deserted. It was early afternoon and the few nightclubs in the district were closed up for the day, huge doors barricaded. A scrubby bar or two were open for business and Vale pulled in and parked in front of one of them. The GPS on his phone told Vale that he was just down the street from the nightclub where he was to meet Woodley.

He had called Starling as soon as he found out the plan, from Woodley's man, Palden. By now, Starling would be inside the Bureau headquarters, with Mendez in tow. Hopefully, Pearsall had not clapped the pair of them in cuffs before they even made it through the door.

The parking lot stank of oil and garbage. The snow which had fallen the previous day was grey, beneath the wheels of the pickup. Vale stared out at it, trying to quell the panic rising within him. He knew that Starling needed the time until five o' clock, to arrange for cooperation with the FBI, but he felt so helpless just sitting there. The bar behind him was tempting. A stiff bourbon was exactly what he needed right now. He resisted, however. It would be an incredibly stupid thing to do. He needed his wits about him.

Leaning back against the driver's seat, Vale closed his eyes, just momentarily. He couldn't work properly if he was running on empty. The meeting was not for a few hours and he desperately needed to get some shut-eye. Keying in an alarm time of four o' clock, Vale set his phone on the dashboard and turned the heating up inside the pickup cab. It was still freezing and the seats were damned uncomfortable, but he could already feel himself sinking into oblivion. Just a little sleep...

His body was crying out for slumber, but his mind was hanging onto wakefulness. Knowing that Mapp was out there, in danger, needing him, was hardly the best recipe for a restful nap. However, it was something he needed to do. He would be of no use to Mapp if he was not at the top of his game. He needed to be fast and accurate. He needed to shoot straight and deadly and he needed to get his timing absolutely right. He could do none of those things if he was reeling with weariness.

Vale screwed his eyes shut tighter and pulled his winter hat down over his eyes. Crossing his arms more firmly across his chest, he forced his body to relax; first his toes, then his feet, then moving further up his body to his legs and torso. By the time he reached his arms, he was barely thinking. By the time he would have reached his face, he was asleep.


	63. Chapter 63

_Chapter 63 – What is right_

.

"Listen," Starling planted her fists against the wooden table of the interrogation suite. "I don't know how many other ways I can say this, sir, but – I really don't know!"

Across the table, Clint Pearsall was slowly retracing the steps of his argument – too slowly. They had laboured over this point a hundred times, already. He just didn't seem to understand the urgency of the situation.

"I don't know where they've taken her." Starling continued. "I do not know what they plan on doing to her. I do not know even know who it was who abducted her, apart from the fact that they were working for a man called Brian Palden, who Mendez tells me is working for Kade Woodley." The female Agent looked down at her watch. "Listen, it's been nearly an hour already, Assistant Director, we need to get moving on this. We only have an hour until Woodley makes this exchange."

"That is, if he is making an exchange at all..."

Pearsall rubbed his thinning hairline and Starling had a sudden flashback of him, many years ago. Time had not been kind to the Assistant Director. He had been quite a handsome man, back in Starling's early days at the Academy. She had almost had a crush on him at one point – one of those strange, slightly power-driven attractions. Now, however, Pearsall looked permanently tired and far older than his forty-something years. He still rubbed his head in the same way, though.

"Clint," first names build trust and Starling needed all the points that she could get. "Please just trust me, on this."

"We wait for forensics on the drive, Clarice." Pearsall sat back in his chair, thoughtfully chewing on the end of a pen. "Until tech finds something, we legally can't make a move."

"Ardelia Mapp is in mortal danger."

Woodley's face twitched and Starling thought, for a moment, that he was going to smirk at her. But – thankfully, for Pearsall – the moment passed and he swallowed it. Starling sunk her forehead onto her fists and closed her eyes. She ached all over. She wanted to go home, but not to Arlington. She wanted to get in her car and drive up, across state lines until she reached the New York house, with its rolling grounds and borders on the leafy forest. She wanted to look down from her window there and see Hannibal coming home to her, and know that they could be curled up together for the rest of eternity. But there was no hope of that now.

Starling mourned her loss of freedom silently. Her captors did not yet know they were her captors. She was being questioned simply because it had been her who Mendez had contacted. As soon as Vale was brought in, or Mendez broke and told his whole story, or someone discovered some connection that Starling failed to hide, she would be revealed as what she was – a traitor. Then her captors would bind her in shackles to the table and there would be no 'Clarice', just Miss Starling. Even Clint Pearsall, who had known her the longest of the people who worked here, now, would not look her in the eye.

"Please just arrange for Tactical to be on stand-by... please..." she begged him.

Starling hated begging, but her dignity was a small price to pay for a chance at saving Mapp. Besides, it would be shot to pieces within a few days anyway. Imagine the newspaper headlines... imagine the names they would throw at her and her child.

Starling lifted her eyes to Pearsall's and gave him a plaintive stare.

"Please..."

He gave her a slow sigh.

"I'll have them on standby, but if this doesn't pan out, you're going to be brought up on official charges." He warned. "Woodley is not going to be pleased."

"Woodley has my best friend in the back of a car somewhere." Starling told him, her voice low and cool. "I couldn't give less of a fuck, about how pleased he is."

They sat for a minute or two, Pearsall checking through his notes, Starling wishing she had brought extra snacks from the car. Her stomach hurt. Her back hurt. Her heart was tearing in two with the thought of never seeing Hannibal, or Mapp, or perhaps both of them ever again. She was even crying inside for Vale, who she had sort of dragged into this whole mess. Poor Vale, he was just trying to save someone that he loved – like she had done. It was all so fucked up.

Pearsall stood, after a moment, and walked over to the door. He paused to look back at her as he reached it, giving her what he must have assumed to be a comforting smile.

"You know, Starling, you're one of our most trusted Agents."

She blushed, more out of unease than pleasure.

"Uh, thanks, sir..."

"And we do trust your judgement." He knocked his pad of paper against the doorframe, thoughtfully. "I'm going to stick my neck out, on this one. I'll have that Tactical team out, near the location you gave me – holding a safe perimeter, of course." He added, as Starling opened her mouth to protest.

It was not perfect, but it would do. Of course, Starling did not think, in any way, that Woodley was going to use the site he had given Vale for the exchange. She fully expected Vale to get there and be relayed to another position – but it was a start. Pearsall had licensed her with a full Tactical Assault Unit. He must have some degree of faith in her – or, at least, a lot of hatred for Senator Kade Woodley. (Starling knew that Pearsall was not an aficionado of politicians, but she had no idea how deep his aversion to Woodley ran. She had wisely decided not to play the 'another corrupt politician' card until now).

"Sir, if this turns out to be true. I mean," Starling reworded, quickly, "if Woodley turns out to be involved in some corruption scandal, what does it mean for Mendez's case?"

Pearsall pulled a shrug.

"It gives him another shot at telling his story. Woodley's testimony will be reconsidered, given any convictions, and the case might well be turned over. The only evidence we ever had on Mendez was the semen and his presence when the police arrived. The rest was down to Woodley."

"He says the GPS on the cars was switched out." Starling lied. She had been the one to uncover that data, but she did not want her soon-to-be-tainted name on record as having had anything to do with it. Let Mendez's word lead them in the right direction. Starling had made sure that the evidence was all nicely labelled and waiting in the lock-up.

Pearsall watched her for a while.

"We have them in evidence?"

"Yes." She nodded. "I haven't had a chance to look them over, yet, but I would advise it, if his claims turn out to be legit."

Pearsall swore, quietly.

"Okay," he sighed. "I'll see you later, Starling." He paused, looking out the door, down the hall. "I've got two guys I trust on Mendez's door. You should probably stay clear of there while I question him. I don't want anything he gives me rendered moot by some screwy legal team, if this all goes to court. Just wait in here."

Starling nodded.

Hope was rising in a dizzying bubble within her chest. She couldn't quite believe what was happening. Pearsall was giving her the benefit of the doubt. Not even in her wildest dreams – where she thought up this harebrained scheme – had she fully expected it to work out. Yet, hope was beginning to spring into life, inside her belly. For the first time, since she had learned of Mapp's capture, she did not feel physically sick.

Pearsall's phone rang and he answered it, tersely. Giving Starling a one-handed wave, he made his way out into the hallway and Starling heard his shoes clicking away. She waited until he entered the room next door before standing and pacing around the interview room. Tentatively, she made her way over to the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. She did not open it however, choosing to remain inside the interview room. She could panic, in here, without the scrutiny of Pearsall's trusted guards.

A wet tear warmed the rise of her cheek. She had not even noticed it fall from her eye. The stress of the last few hours was coming to a head. Walking shakily back over to the table, Starling sat down and lay her head into her. Her body was shuddering, preparing for an onslaught of tears which she did not want or need. Hoping like hell that nobody was watching her, Starling let them come, pressing her face into her forearms to hide them from the cameras.

When they watched this playback, in the weeks to come, they would know why she was crying.

Even if they found Mapp and Vale, and exonerated Mendez, and everything else went according to plan, Clarice Starling would remain prisoner. Vale would tell them. She had seen the resolution in his eyes, back at the hotel. And if Vale didn't tell them, then Mendez would. Starling did not blame them. It was the right thing to do and both were honourable men. Still, the horror of it all ate away inside her. What had she done? What had she given up to do the right thing? Why had she returned so readily to this foolish self-sacrifice, despite everything that Hannibal had taught her?

Because she was Clarice Starling.

The thought sobered her, calming the rising panic. Her cries died down, the tears stopped, the shaking became less intense. She was Clarice Starling and she was doing this because she knew it to be right. Turning away now, would be denying _who_ she was – her very nature – and Starling knew she couldn't live like that, not without hating herself. The only negative part of the three years she had spent with Hannibal was the knowledge that everybody at the Bureau had thought her to be a captive. Starling had been living a lie. It was something she would not do again.

"I want to go home." She whispered into her arm, wondering if she should tap her heels together as she said it. Perhaps the floor would open up and carry her back to the New York house and all of this would be a horrible dream.

But it had not all been horrible, Starling thought as she wiped her tears across her skin. She had held her friend in her arms again. She had felt a child growing within her. She had brought Vale to Mapp, and vice versa (no matter how they thought they had found their own way, Starling had done a lot of pushing). There had been bad days and she had missed her lover so very much, but there had also been good days.

Starling screwed her eyelids tight closed and breathed deeply. In the silence of the room, her heartbeat thundered against her ear drums. She had a decision to make, now. She knew she would stay until this operation was over, risking her discovery – but once it was over, once Mapp was lost or rescued, Starling knew she had to make a choice.

Starling stood and walked over to the door of the interview room. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The two men guarded the room next to her looked over with mild expressions of worry. Her eyes were no doubt red, her face most evident of having cried. Starling did not care. She asked them for a pen and a pad of paper, with an envelope. The younger of the two guards went off to fetch it and Starling stood with the other until he returned. Nothing else was said between them.

The guard returned and handed her a pad of paper and an envelope and Starling retreated once more into the interview room. She went and sat down at her place again and slowly, with shaking hand, addressed the envelope to the FBI Director's office. Her words were surprisingly neat across the paper. Then she wrote the letter she had been thinking about writing since the day she had returned, re-captured from that house in New York.

The first sentence of the letter was the hardest, but from there it started to flow out of her. So cathartic was the truth that, by the time she had finished writing, Starling's tears were all but dried up. Her body had stopped shaking and she was calm.

It was over. She had done it. The truth was free.

The letter lay on front of her on the table, sealed within its envelope. It would be delivered to the Director's office some time tonight. She had made note for his secretary to hold it until tomorrow morning. It should give her the time she needed – time to escape, if everything went according to plan, or time to adjust to her new life of captivity, if it didn't. Starling traced her hand over the edges of the envelope. It felt odd, that she could sign her life away with such ease, in such an inoffensive little letter. Such a betrayal as hers should have been revealed by being shouted off a rooftop. Starling smiled, a little sadly. Her shoulders felt light.

She waited in the room until the guards came to tell her that Pearsall was finished with Mendez, then she handed the letter over. Her eyes followed its progress, all the way down the hall and away. Then Starling turned, and entered the room where her colleagues were waiting. The truth was on its way, but she had one more day to get through. Taking a deep breath, she strode through the door.

It was almost over, Starling told herself. She could do this.

.


	64. Chapter 64

_Chapter 64 – Benedict Vale_

.

Vale woke with the horrible sensation of falling.

He was briefly aware of being jerked from sleep, and then everything around him exploded with pain. His forehead collided with the dashboard and he swore loudly. It was cold, his back and neck were aching. His body felt like it needed ten million hours more of sleep before it would be satisfied, and somewhere, nearby, there was a god-awful ringing sound which was sending his mind into panic mode. Where was he? And how long had he been asleep?

It took a few moments for Vale to realised that the ringing noise was emanating from his cell phone, and a couple more to find it, with sleep-blurred eyes. As his fingers closed around the casing, depressing buttons at random to try and coax it into silence, the ringing abruptly stopped. Vale righted himself in the seat and rubbed his eyes, before looking down at the small LCD screen.

There were no missed calls, but the words 'alarm dismissed' were emblazoned in black writing across the top. Vale swore again and let his body fall back against the driver's seat. Nobody had been calling after all. It had been his alarm. Of course. His heartbeat was shuddering extra-hard inside his chest. It had been some waking. He had been wrenched from the midst of a nightmare; a strange dream involving Woodley and Mendez and Lecter, all combined as one villainous character. Vale gave his face another rub, trying to urge himself into wakefulness.

Slowly, things began to trickle back in. His identity, purpose and location hit him in the first wave. He was Special Agent Benedict Vale and he was in his pickup, outside Peep Peep's – a rather down-at-the-heels bar in the Ivy City neighbourhood. He was here awaiting a meeting with Brian Palden. The thought of the meeting brought him back to reality with an uncomfortable crash.

Mapp.

His girlfriend (it still felt so strange to call her that – especially as he wasn't sure she would even want to be his girlfriend, after all of this was over – ) was being held by a madman. He was here to exchange something he did not have, for her life. Vale swore quietly and checked his phone again. There had been no other calls while he was asleep. Neither Palden nor Starling had contacted him. For now, no news meant good news. It meant that Starling had convinced Pearsall not to send DCPD out after him. Yet the absence of her call meant she still had not convinced him to lend them a Tactical Assault team.

Vale exhaled heavily and looked around himself. The windows of the pickup were somewhat steamed up. He had fallen asleep with the engine running, so that he did not freeze to death, but it had not seemed to attract any attention from the neighbours. The bar had only two cars parked outside and none of their occupants seemed overly interested in seeing what Vale was up to. It was an industrial neighbourhood, with a lot of through-traffic. Vale knew from the FBI reports that the area was rife in drugs traffic. A solitary loitering car was probably not a big deal, around these parts. Still, he had better keep an eye out for the police. It would be tragic if he was caught before committing a real felony.

Shifting over in his seat, Vale stretched and turned the engine off. The heat began to dissipate almost immediately, the cold January morning slipping in through cracks in the pickup's panelling. So much for American-built cars he thought, bitterly. Wrenching open the door, he stepped outside, plunging himself into frozen air.

The early afternoon had given way to a low-sunned evening. It was barely four o' clock, but already the day was closing around him. The sky was low with cloud. The cloud was pink with sun. Vale took a deep breath of the bitterly cold air. It tasted of oil and diesel. The car park he was in was frequented by large trucks, on their way through to stock warehouses, further into the district. About him, there was very little movement. The area did not really come alive until after nine, when the clubs opened. Vale drank it all in, wondering what was hiding in the lengthening shadows. Vale turned slowly, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Was Woodley's man watching him right now?

Most likely, he was. It was an hour before he had to head out to the meeting place, which meant that Woodley would have his men in place and have him watched. Vale put his hands out to each side, palms up in silent mock surrender.

"Come and get me." He hissed to the frozen afternoon.

A semi trundled slowly along the street on front of the bar. It was the only moving vehicle in eyesight.

Turning, Vale walked around to the pickup bed and wrangled through the layers of crap that had accumulated there. He had several coats, a pair of work boots, an uncountable number of food wrappers and empty drinks containers. After digging through for a minute or so, he found what he was searching for. A GPS tracking chip, small as the head of a pin. It was held in a syringe, within a small plastic case. Starling had given it to him months ago, when they first started working together. It was some experimental piece, from Tech – Vale had been meant to return it somewhere, but had forgotten about it in the back of his desk. Nobody seemed to be missing the thing, so he had decided to keep it. It was only a little theft, compared to what they were doing now.

Vale pulled the little plastic case out and fingered it over. The black chip inside the syringe was designed to be injected subcutaneously. Vale bit at his lower lip. He hated needles, but he knew it was not enough to carry a chip, or place one in his clothing. They could make him strip. They could search him before taking him somewhere else to make the exchange. Starling had told him that the GPS on his phone would be enough to pinpoint his position, but Vale wanted insurance. What if they moved him a second time, after he made the call to bring Starling in? There were too many variables – too many ways for all of this to go wrong. If Starling did not have his location, then she could not bring in the Tactical Assault team. And then he and Mapp would really be fucked.

Vale exhaled deeply then, turned to face the pickup, hiding his arm and the syringe from view. If Woodley's men were watching him, he did not want them to see this. They could not know about the extra tracker chip. Unclipping the plastic case, Vale withdrew the needle. It was short, but reasonably wide. Vale focussed his mind on other sensations, trying to ignore the growing need to throw the needle to the ground and stamp it broken. He needed to do this.

With a deep breath, he rolled the sleeve of his jacket halfway up and – taking care to keep his arm obscured – slid the needle into the skin at the side of his wrist. In the hollow, between his forearm bones, he injected the chip. It was less uncomfortable than he had expected. There was a sharp pinch, as needle punctured skin, but the rest was painless. Steadying his hand, Vale depressed the plunger and felt the odd cold rush of liquid underneath his skin. Glancing down, he saw that the syringe was empty. The GPS chip was in and he had not even felt it. He withdrew the needle swiftly, rolling his sleeve down over the spot immediately.

The ID number of the chip was printed on the back of the plastic casing. Vale keyed it into his phone, storing in a prepared message, which he could send to Starling, when the time was right... once he was sure that he had Mapp safe. She could activate it and track him from the FBI computers.

Technology these days really was amazing.

"Okay."

This was insane.

Vale looking around the parking lot. There was still no one in sight, yet Vale was almost positive he was being watched. He had taken precautions, when driving here – and Vale knew that Woodley's men had no reason to be watching him until he arrived at the meeting – but the hair on the back of his neck was standing to attention. He felt like prey.

The ring of his cell phone startled him into a jump. Grappling with his zipped pockets, he pulled it free and answered it as quickly as possible.

"Vale?" It was Starling.

"Yes?"

"We're on."

A breath which Vale had not even realised he was holding exploded from his lungs.

"Thank fuck."

"Forensics found some interesting stuff on Woodley from that disk – at least, enough to get an investigation underway." Starling informed him. "Oh, and you're on speaker with Hodgins, A.D. Pearsall, myself, Aaron Pearce from Tactical and Selkirk from Legal."

Vale could just imagine what a fun gathering that must be.

"How do you want to do this?" Vale heard Pearsall's voice pipe up, slightly further away from the speaker than Starling's.

"Tac team at a safe perimeter." Vale replied. "I can't let these people know I have backup. You sure you've got this contained at your end? Nobody knows about Mendez being brought in, or the disk?"

"Dead sure." Starling replied, clearly.

"Surely we can get our men in closer," Pearsall's voice came in, crackly over the speakers. "If we send the team in soft, we could surround the place with you inside – stop them escaping."

"Woodley's men are from the best." Vale rubbed his head agitatedly. "Starling's got information on the sort of people he employs. She'll give you the details, but suffice to say we can't get round the back of these guys."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"I've got to go in without backup." Vale continued, his voice sounding so very loud in the cold empty air of the parking lot. "I'm meeting Woodley's man in under an hour. He's probably going to take my cell phone, after I make the call to you, so I've put a GPS tracker on me, just in case he tries anything funny."

"Good thinking," Starling sighed. "What are the GPS tracker ID and codes?"

"I've sent it to your cell."

Some clicking and noises in the background.

"Okay. I've got it."

There was some more silence. Vale heard bureaucrats shifting on the other end of the phone. The squeak of polished shoes on polished floors sounded a million miles from where he was standing. They were safe and inside and warm and he was standing in the cold, on the knife-edge. He had never felt more isolated.

"Vale?" Starling's voice sounded a little softer.

"Yeah?" he replied, not particularly wanting to talk to her, but finding even her traitor's voice a welcome distraction from the cold fear that was seeping through him.

"Please be careful. And don't go in armed."

"I won't."

"Try to string them on as long as possible."

"I will."

A pause.

"Good luck."

The others coursed their own versions of 'good luck' also and then Starling signed off, after telling him her number one last time. Vale closed the phone with a snap. He would call her once he saw that Mapp was safe and well. Now, all he had to do was wait for Woodley's man to call.

.

He did not have to wait long.

Palden must have been watching him, because – despite Vale having arrived early to their meeting place – he crawled out of the woodwork within five minutes of Starling's phone call.

It happened just like hits did, in mafia movies. A dark-coloured sedan pulled out, from behind the warehouses around the corner. Its windows were tinted but, as it swung once around him, Vale could see two large men sitting in the front seats. As soon as the sedan had halted, a second car made its appearance – an opulent Mercedes, this time. Vale followed its progress as it drew level with his pickup and slid slowly to a stop. The Mercedes windows were not tinted, but the glare of the sun made it difficult to read a face.

Vale squinted, trying to assertain that it was Woodley. The window on the car rolled down and he was treated to the sight of an unfamiliar face.

"I guess you'll be Woodley's man, Brian?" he asked, managing to keep the shivering from his voice.

"Indeed." Brian Palden tilted his head.

He was a wirey guy, the sort that Vale would not normally be too cautious about. This wirey guy, however, was holding his girlfriend hostage and was involved in a large-scale corruption scandal. The title 'financial advisor' was no doubt a euphemism. Vale wondered whether Palden took care of all of Woodley's dirty work, despite not looking like the type.

"Where's Woodley?" Vale asked, trying to keep the conversation as short as possible.

Palden shrugged.

"He will be joining us later."

It made sense, thought Vale. Check the place out before bringing in the big guns. Its what he would have done.

"And Mapp?"

"Your girlfriend is perfectly secure." Palden reached over and flicked something on the dashboard. The locks on the Mercedes clicked. "Hop in. I hope you don't mind sitting in the back. It's nothing personal, but I'm going to have to ask you to strip your clothes and re-dress yourself in the attire that I have provided. Don't want any trackers on you, after all."

He sounded almost cheerful, like he was enjoying the situation. Vale dredged up just a little more hatred, from the pit of his stomach.

"Oh," Palden added. "Try not to get mud all over the upholstery while you're back there. The car's brand new and I don't think I can claim on my insurance this early into my contract."

Biting back a witty retort, Vale climbed into the back and picked through the plastic bag, containing a pair of jogging pants, a t shirt and a loose sweater. All were cheap and scratchy. It seemed the Senator's money did not extend to keeping his kidnap victims in comfort. Vale stripped off his clothes without another word and redressed himself. That done, he turned to Palden in the front seat.

"Deposit the old ones out the window and hand me your phone."

Vale did as he was told.

"Where is Mapp?" he asked again, as he handed the phone over.

Palden, busy removing the battery pack and SIM card from the phone, rendering it untraceable, did not reply.

"I wouldn't damage that, if I were you," Vale warned him. "I need that to call my companion. She has your disk."

"Yes, I noticed you did not have the disk on you." Palden replied, sounding not at all surprised. "I expected nothing less, of course, you are a professional."

"Where is Mapp?" Vale glared.

"Secure."

"And when is Woodley gonna get here?" Vale asked, feeling he had been talking to this man quite long enough. "I'm not calling my associate to come in, with the disk, until I see both of them. I need to know you have the authority to make this deal."

Palden's mouth twitched into a nasty smile.

"Oh, sir, I assure you my authority is sufficient."

"Sorry if I don't entirely trust you."

A few beats passed in silence, then Palden heaved a sigh.

"You'll have it your way, of course." Switching the car back into gear, he made a large loop around the car park and headed back out, onto the street. "We'll just be taking a little detour, around the city, first – just to make sure you don't have any friends tailing you."

So much for the Tactical team surrounding his location, thought Vale. With him on the move, they would have no option but to stay well back. He suspected Palden was going to drive him around the city for a good long while. It made sense. It was what Vale would have done, in his situation.

He sat in silence in the back of the Mercedes, trying not to breathe too loudly and alert his captor to his tenuous grasp on control. He needed to appear strong and professional now, in order for this all to work. Mapp's life was depending on his ability to keep a poker face. Vale swallowed and concentrated hard on the traffic passing the Mercedes' windows.

After a minute or two, he forced himself to speak.

"Is Mapp safe?"

"She is well and unharmed. We have fed, watered her and shown her the courtesies which one would expect of civil men."

Vale snorted with derision.

Palden ignored him.

"She is nearby," he continued. "You will see her once I have decided that we are not being followed, by your FBI or any other people you may have in your employ. You're a smart man, Mr Vale, with an impressive record. I've never heard of a Marine sniper so highly commended, outside the battlefield. What did you do?" he asked, throwing a glance back at Vale, in the mirror. "Depose a dictator, terminate a tyrant… curtail a khan?"

"I saved a platoon of men, under fire." Vale answered, truthfully. If Palden could access his service awards, then he could read the details too.

"Very commendable." Woodley's financial advisor gave a wry little smile. "I hope the military gave you a suitably large medal."

"We aren't all interested in the glory, Mr Palden," Vale told him.

He was unable to resist slipping Palden's last name into conversation. Palden had not yet mentioned it, during their phone calls and Vale wanted to show him that he was not the only one who could dig up dirt. It wasn't just about ego. The more Palden thought Vale knew about him, the better. It would make him consider Vale as more of an equal – at least, that was the theory. In practice, Palden looked supremely unconcerned by Vale knowing his name. He just tilted his had to one side, in deference to Vale's comment about glory, and said;

"Quite."

They drove on, in silence, for another ten minutes.

Once Palden was sure they were not being tailed, he headed back into the Ivy city district and followed a convoluted way down, past the old railroad tracks. He drove up to a particularly dishevelled looking building, down from the old docking bays and parked out back. Within a few minutes, the sedan pulled up, from a different direction. Two men stepped out, but no Mapp. Vale scanned the back seats, but did not see her there either.

"Where is she?"

Palden nodded to the rear of the Mercedes and clicked the key. The trunk popped open.

"You bastard!"

Vale felt an unstoppable surge of rage running through him. All this time, his girlfriend had been lying, tied up, no more than five feet away. What immeasurable damage had someone done to this man, for him to think this was acceptable treatment of another human being? How could he not care?

He was so close to leaping across the room and trying to throttle Palden, but he stowed it all away with practiced control. He couldn't let emotion get the better of him, not today. Today he was Special Agent Vale, ex-Marine Sniper, strong and silent and dependable. He needed to be. If let himself be Benedict, a man in love with Ardelia Mapp, he was going to fall into pieces.

"Oh, she'll have survived the ride, Mr Vale."

Vale yanked down on the door handle and swung himself out of the car. He started to stride around the car, to the trunk but, before he reached it, the two men in the sedan had leapt out and levelled twin black assault rifles at him.

"Halt, sir!" Palden called, almost playfully, as he too exited the Mercedes. "My apologies about the goon squad, with the M16s, but I cannot let you proceed any further, without a phone call."

Vale looked back over at Palden.

He gad jumped down from the driver's seat of the Mercedes and started towards Vale, holding his cell phone aloft. He was shorter than Vale had expected. Out of the car, he stood no more than five foot five, or so. His slight build leant little to his over all appearance. It was no mystery, thought vale, why Palden had chosen to align himself with Senator Kade Woodley. On his own, he was nothing threatening. His face was a little pinched, with a thin mouth and a nose that was a little bent to one side. His eyes were dark, but completely lacking in warmth. They reminded Vale of a shark's eyes.

Despite not looking conventionally threatening, there was a strange expression on Palden's face which made Vale nervous. He was enjoying this way too much. Also, Vale had never seen anyone part their hair so neatly before. Surely that was some sort of sign of a madman.

Vale faltered near the rear door of the Mercedes, his hands raised so as not to alarm Palden's good squad. Woodley's financial advisor strolled slowly around the car to stand on front of him, footsteps steady and confident. What he lacked in height and good looks, he clearly made up in swagger.

"I need that disk, Mr Vale." He had the voice of a man who was holding all the cards.

Or, Vale thought, who _assumed_ he was holding all the cards.

Palden might have Mapp but Vale had backup, no more than five minutes away. He knew, from paying close attention to their journey, that they were no more than ten minutes away from the site where Palden had first asked to meet him. Though they could not track his cell phone, the Tactical team was waiting, just around the corner, for Vale to call in and order an attack. All Vale had to do was to make sure Mapp was okay and make the call to Starling, to 'bring in the disk'.

He had decided, during the uncomfortable ride here, that he was not going to wait until Woodley arrived, before making the call. He had made this decision because of two things. Firstly, he did not believe that Palden would actually call Woodley. And, secondly, the information on the disk should be enough to incriminate Woodley, without his presence at the kidnap. Vale had no doubts that, once Palden was placed in a witness box, the truth would come spilling out, along with all kinds of testimonies. He might be a madman, with a fetish for acting out scenes form gangster films, but Vale suspected he was also a coward.

"May I please see that Ardelia is okay, before I call my friend?" Vale asked, trying to keep his voice calm and polite. He did not want to aggravate the situation any more than was necessary. At the moment, all of this was reparable.

"Are you going to play nicely?"

"Yes. Please, just let me see her."

"You really want to?" Palden pulled a face. "She's been in a trunk for nearly two hours now. It's not gonna be pretty."

Vale's mouth tightened as he tried, very hard, not to jump on Palden and beat him to a bloody pulp.

"Let me see her."

Palden motioned to the men with guns, who dropped their aim from Vale's head to his lower regions. Their eyes stayed locked on him, however, as he made his way around towards the rear of the Mercedes.

Vale's heart was in his mouth. The trunk of the new SUV was popped open and Vale could see a sliver of Mapp's jacket through the crack. She did not appear to be moving. His footsteps sped up.

"Dee?" he dropped into a crouch beside the trunk and pushed up on the rear door, revealing the bound and prone body of his girlfriend.

Her hands and feet were bound with plastic tie-wraps and she was gagged with what looked like a necktie. She was still wearing the clothes she had been in earlier that evening, but they were now ripped and torn, in places. Blood was smeared across her cheeks. A terrible graze reached down one side of her face, from her forehead down to her jaw.

"Hey, Dee," Vale swallowed back the horror, trying not to let it show in his eyes.

Her gaze was fixed on him, with an expression somewhere between relief and terror. The whites of her eyes showed up starkly, against her darkly bruised skin.

"Its okay." He slipped a hand inside, his fingers moving to curl around her bound ones. "I'm gonna get you out of here. I've got what he wants and we're gonna hand it over. You're gonna be okay."

He tried to reach further, to undo her bonds, but Palden tutted loudly, behind him.

Vale whirled around.

"This is disgusting – you've got to let her go."

Palden chuckled.

"Oh, I don't think so." He swung the expensive sat phone he had been carrying by its short antennae, with the casual regard of someone with unlimited funds. His eyes were still twinkling with enjoyment. "I'm afraid that Miss Mapp will be staying firmly under wraps, until I have that disk of yours."

"I'll call my associate."

Vale told him, turning back towards Palden. He did not want to leave Mapp's side, but they needed to get going. He needed to call Starling and get the Tactical team sent in, before anything happened to worsen their situation. Woodley's financial advisor did not look entirely stable. Vale was terrified that Palden was about to lose himself completely in his gangster fantasy and shoot both him and Mapp, regardless of the disk.

"Listen, Brian," he stood up and walked over towards Palden, attempting to look reasonable, despite his growing unease. "I'll arrange to get the disk here as soon as you untie her. When my colleague arrives, we can have a fair exchange."

He was delivering an ultimatum to a madman.

Vale held his breath for a few seconds, watching Palden's expressions change. Hope lit inside of him. Palden's eyes were practically glimmering with excitement at the prospect of a hostage-package exchange. This might just work…

"Well, I suppose, Mr Vale, I shall just have to see what I can do." With a little chuckle, he beckoned Vale back towards him, waving the phone on front of the Agent's face. "We will be using my phone. I assume you know your associate's number by memory."

"Yes, of course." The leaden weight began to lift from Vale's stomach. This was going to work. He would call Starling and bring in the Tac team. This was going to work!

The Agent had just opened his mouth, about to deliver his terms for the exchange, when a third car pulled into the lot. Immediately, Vale could tell that Palden had not anticipated this car's arrival.

The small man stiffened, the arrogance he had been carrying himself with disappearing almost immediately. He seemed even smaller than before. Lowering his hand, with the sat phone inside it, he stepped backwards, closer to the Mercedes. His eyes were fixed on the third vehicle – a dark SUV with government plates – which was peeling slowly towards them, across the cracked tarmac. His eyes were a storm of worry and something else. Was it irritation, anger perhaps?

Vale turned his attentions towards the new car, too, wondering what fresh hell was about to be heaped upon him.

The car pulled to a halt and Senator Woodley stepped out, accompanied by an armed body guard. Palden exhaled heavily. Vale frowned. Far from being assured by his superior's arrival, Palden seemed more on edge than before. Vale frowned, looking between the two men. The kidnapper, at his side, was suddenly sweaty and nervous. Woodley, striding towards them, looked confused and hurt.

"Sir, I told you not to come here." Palden muttered quietly, as his boss approached.

"What in God's name is goin' on here, Brian?" Woodley looked over, appraising Vale, dressed in his scabby jogging gear, and the armed guards standing twenty feet away. "This looks like some scene from the Godfather." He bit out, angrily. "I thought you said you had this man's cooperation."

"I do."

Vale looked from one to the other. What was going on here? Had Woodley not sent Palden here, on his behalf? Did he not know the whole picture? Though his situation five minutes ago had been dire, at Least Vale had known what role everybody was playing in it – or, at least, he had thought he did. Now, everything was suddenly unclear. Vale's head felt like it might explode.

"What's going on?" he stepped forwards, addressing the question to the politician, rather than his financial advisor. If Woodley didn't know about this, then maybe he would be willing to help. On the other hand, he had to be careful. If he sounded like he was changing his mind, about handing over the disk, Palden might lose it and shoot Mapp. "This man," Vale pointed at Palden, "said you sanctioned the trade – my girlfriend for the disk. That was the deal."

Palden stepped in-between the Vale and Woodley, shooting the Senator a wan smile.

"As you can see, the deal is about to go through. Everything will work out just as we had hoped. Come now, Sir. If you would please just go back to your car, we can talk all the details over later."

"No, Brian, I don't think I will." Woodley proclaimed, folding his massive arms across his massive chest. He towered over the smaller man, his shadow casting him completely in the dark. "The disk for his girlfriend – what does he mean, Brian? I don't know what you think you're playing at, trying to keep me out of this. I understand you are trying to do your best for this campaign, and that you've always protected our asses, but really, Palden; down by the railroad tracks at sunset? Could this be any more trite?"

Palden glanced nervously around him and his eyes flickered, just for the briefest of moments, over the trunk to the car.

Woodley spotted the direction in which he was looking and followed it. When his eyes came across the trunk, he froze, face falling.

"...Brian?"

Palden's eyes slowly closed. He looked as if he were praying.

Slowly, with more than a little trepidation, Woodley unfolded his arms and began to make his way slowly over to the rear of Palden's Mercedes.

"Please, sir, I would rather you didn't-," Palden began, but he did not manage to finish his plea before Woodley reached the trunk and wrenched the door fully open.

Mapp screamed and writhed from underneath her bonds. Vale could pick out several curses amongst the pleas for help. Woodley swore. Palden watched them impassively, rubbed his forehead.

"Well… this is rather complicates matters," he said, to nobody in particular.

For a moment, Woodley was frozen to the spot. He faltered, looking down over her as if he was not quite sure what to do. Then, seizing himself, he took a step forwards and leant down, trying to untie Mapp's bonds. When he failed, he turned and called for the man who had come with him – his driver, presumably – to come over. The driver did not budge.

Woodley frowned and turned to the other two guards, with the M16 rifles. "All of you are in on this, too?"

They stared blankly back at him.

Silence brewed nastily in the air. Woodley looked between the three guards and Palden, then down again to Mapp in the trunk of Palden's Mercedes. He tried again to untie the bonds again, failing again, before, in a fit of rage, whirling back on Palden. "This is outrageous, Brian, when I said you were to facilitate his cooperation, I didn't mean it like this. You said there would be money involved, and nobody would get hurt. God damn it, Brian, I could have you thrown in prison for this. This is kidnap! Who is this woman?"

"Special Agent Ardelia Mapp." Palden replied, giving one last weary sigh before straightening up.

That quiet arrogance which he had displayed before Woodley had arrived was back. The façade of the simpering employee had vanished. Vale watched Palden carefully, not quite sure which of the two personas was an act.

He wondered if Palden knew. Was this was all an elaborate performance, or was it just a man spectacularly losing his grasp on reality? Vale swore to himself. He and Mapp were not going to die for some man's sordid fantasy. He tried, surreptitiously, to inch closer to the Mercedes and Mapp, but one of Palden's men spotted him and raised his gun barrel threateningly.

Vale stilled.

"Kade," Palden sighed, wearily, "why did you have to come here? I told you your presence wasn't needed." He motioned to the men standing at the sedan to close in around Woodley. They did, instantly. "I assume you found me here by following the car tracker?"

Woodley nodded, dumbly.

"Oh so very clever of you and so very foolish of me." Palden sighed and tapped his head with one slender finger. "I forgot your security detail would be traceable from our offices. Nevertheless," Palden sighed. "I suppose it could have been worse. You didn't inform the police that you were coming, did you?" he asked.

Woodley shook his head, slowly.

"Oh well, I suppose that's some sort of silver lining."

Palden smiled and placed his phone back in his pocket, before reaching down, into his waistband. Vale saw what he was about to do seconds before he did it and leapt instinctively forwards, with a cry of surprise. The gunshot was muffled, by a suppressor as long as Vale's forearm, but it still echoed loudly around the empty lot.

For a moment, nobody seemed to believe what had happened. Then Woodley gave a cry of agony and crumpled to the tarmac, grasping his thigh. Red blossomed through his pant leg, seeping out across the fabric. With a betrayed howl, he trying to scramble upright, away from Palden, but failed drastically. He tumbled again to the floor, shaking hands grasping a leg which was pouring with blood and quite clearly broken.

Vale held back a retch at the sight of the splintered bone.

"Put a tourniquet around his leg and stick him in the back of his truck." Palden motioned for the two men from the sedan to go to Woodley's side. "I have enough mess in mine as it is."

They seized him under each arm and dragged him backwards, writhing all the while. Palden calmly flicked the safety back on and stowed the long muzzle of his gun down the back of his suit trousers, beneath his jacket.

This was not supposed to happen. Vale stared at the scene unfolding around him, lost in terrible, sinking revelation. Everything had fallen apart. All plans were out the window. Palden had shot Woodley, which rendered any danger the disk posed as moot. He no longer needed Mapp. He no longer needed Vale. He would not let them make the phone call. Starling and her Tactical team would not be coming. They were alone.

Vale staggered forwards, wanting only to get to Mapp's side, to prevent any further harm from coming to her. She was struggling madly within the trunk of the car. Her eyes had shot even wider at the gunshot and he could see her mouth straining at the tape that covered it. He only got a couple of feet, however, before pain exploded behind his left ear.

The third guard, who had arrived as Woodley's driver, had snuck up behind Vale and knocked him over the head. The shape of the object contacting Vale's skull was familiar, he was almost sure it was the butt of a Glock 22 handgun. For a split second, the Agent mused to himself that it was the first time he had forgotten to watch his back in over fifteen years. Then, blackness folded in around him and all was lost.

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	65. Chapter 65

_Chapter 65 – Crash_

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Starling sat tapping her fingers across the conference desk absent-mindedly. Her body was in torture, she ached all over, she had never been this hungry in her life, and her worry seemed to have taken on an almost-physical aspect. She felt sick to her stomach. Her palms and forehead were sweaty. And, to top it off, the baby was doing what appeared to be a tap-dance on top of her bladder. She felt like shit. She looked like shit. She really, really hoped that this was all a terrible dream and she would wake up curled up in bed beside Hannibal.

God, it was a bad day when wasting the day away in bed with an escaped serial killer was actually preferable to sitting in your place of work.

"Heard anything?" barked Pearsall, storming back in, through the door.

It was fifteen minutes past the deadline that Vale had given them and all hell was breaking loose.

FBI Tactical teams have many wonderful attributes, but their willingness to follow flexible plans of attack was not one of them. The needed times and locations, and Vale had provided neither. He was supposed to have called, fifteen minutes ago, to confirm Mapp was safe and to call in the cavalry. As it was, they had no idea what was going on. Pearsall and the other bureaucrats had voted to activate Vale's arm tracker and had traced the Agent to a street in Edgewood. A townhouse seemed an unlikely meeting place but, as Starling had pointed out, it was more difficult to storm than a warehouse, with more exits. Perhaps Woodley was smarter than they gave him credit for.

"Well, anything?" Pearsall demanded.

"Nothing yet, sir," Starling replied, listlessly.

The table shifted and hummed to the same effect.

Somehow, they had accumulated something like three times the number of people who had been involved in the early stages of the operation. The heads of all the most important departments within the service were gathered around, waiting for a slice of the pie. The disk, being analysed down in tech, was proving to be a damn sight more lucrative than Starling could have possibly imagined. It showed links between Woodley and a known mafia boss, a Florida drugs smuggler and a New York Gangster by the name of Little Ginny, who was best known for eviscerating her enemies with a diamond-edged sword. (Honestly, it was like something out of a James Bond film). Needless to say, Kade Woodley would be up before the judge tomorrow. It was whether or not he would be facing a double murder charge to his rap sheet, for Agents Mapp and Vale, which Starling was worried about.

She excused herself from the table and moved to pace at the back of the room, where there was a little more elbow room. Rubbing her lower back agitatedly, she did not even notice when Hodgins came sprinting in, waving a sheet of paper.

"We have a BOLO out of Woodley and his aide, who are both missing from a function they were supposed to arrive at, twenty minutes ago." He skidded up to A.D. Pearsall and presented a piece of paper. "Warrant for arrest for Palden. We are waiting on a sheet for Woodley but I wouldn't wait to move in. This guy slips away and we'll be eating shit from the press for weeks."

Pearsall muttered a little under his breath.

Starling looked around the room. The consensus was beginning to move in ways which felt unfavourable. Being Mapp and Vale's only real advocate, she stepped forwards.

"You have to wait. You can't go in yet. Give Vale another few minutes… he'll call."

Everybody looked over at her. Starling felt suddenly even larger than she was. Despite her usual ability to look un-phased by her colleagues' negative attention, she felt her cheeks flush slightly.

"Please," she forced herself to continue. "We have to give them a chance. You go in without warning and they'll get shot to hell. You've all seen it before, you know it."

A few people looked pitying. Most of them looked distinctly unbothered, as if the death of two minor agents was a perfectly acceptable price to pay, for the capture of such a big fish. Starling wondered, to herself, whether those same men would have defended Senator Kade Woodley against her, not an hour before, when the contents of the hard drive disk had not been aired.

So easy were the minds of men, to influence with facts.

"Please." She repeated, looking imploringly to Pearsall and Hodgins – the only two which stood any likelihood of listening to her.

"Starling, a word outside?" Pearsall motioned towards the door.

Starling's heart fell. She shook her head.

"You can say whatever you need to say to me in here. And don't tell me I'm emotionally compromised," she raised her hand, accusingly, in his direction. "I know damn well I'm emotionally compromised, but I'm operationally sound. You can't go in, now. If SWAT burst into that place with no intelligence, you could blow two good Agents – two agents who, I'm gonna remind you, are responsible for getting you this evidence on Woodley. You can't go in. End of." She glared furiously at her boss, safe in the knowledge that he would not be her boss tomorrow.

Whatever happened tonight, by tomorrow her treachery would be public knowledge. It was a miracle nobody had figured it out yet. Until they did, however, Starling was going to do whatever was in her power to protect Vale and Mapp's interests.

"Agent Starling, we do not have a choice here." Pearsall let out an exhausted sigh, running his hands through his thinning grey hair. "DCPD are involved now, through SWAT, and the CIA have been on the line, asking about a possible security breach, regarding Woodley's involvement with this Drugs shipping cartel. We are up to our asses in people who are after this guy. We can't let him slip through the net – we need to be the ones to bring him in, before this gets any messier."

"You're going to waste them?"

Starling knew that her tone was bordering on disrespect, but she could not help it. Her incredulity was growing with each second that nobody rushed to disagree with Pearsall. They were actually going to do it. They were going to waste Mapp and Vale, like they were worth nothing! They were going to wash their hands. Starling gave a cold little laugh of disbelief. She had known her masters to be callous before, but to be so unashamed...

Pearsall had not even blinked.

"You can't do this. You can't sacrifice them like this!"

"They stand as good a chance now as later." Hodgins said, in what he must have assumed was a comforting voice.

Starling found no comfort there.

"Chance? They stand no fucking chance. You've seen that townhouse – it's a death trap. Stick fifteen men with guns in there and there won't be much left to identify our Agents by. If we wait for Vale's signal, at least he can get them into a safe position, try and minimise the damage." Starling strode forwards, slamming both her palms down against the tabletop. "You have to give them a fair chance. You can't let them die for your public relations collar!"

Can't was a word men like Pearsall were not used to hearing, and a word which Starling was practically banned from using, from her low perch on the FBI hierarchy. Everybody around the table watched with bated breath.

"Clarice..." Pearsall said her first name softly. His eyes were warning.

Starling scanned his face, searching out the lines and creases for any hint of mercy there. His eyes were hard.

He needed this catch more than he needed a clear conscience. Starling had heard the rumours – Pearsall was on his way out. He needed this to keep his job, his company car and his mortgage, that expensive young wife of his... he needed Woodley and he did not need Vale and Mapp. There was no mercy in his eyes.

"Shit. You're going to do it." she muttered, quite unable to believe it.

"I'm sorry," Pearsall began, but she did not hear the rest.

Turning on her heel, she strode, as quickly as her pregnant body would allow, out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

The Hoover building was never quite empty. As Starling made her way through the hallways, followed at a distance by her two-man guard, she found some solace in being surrounded by so many people not paying attention to her. If it was busy after ten o' clock, that meant there was a real emergency going on and there was no time for gossip. Tonight, nobody had time to look twice, at her massive belly. Nobody was wondering about her child, or making small talk about the circumstances under which it had arisen. Starling was glad. In the mood she was in, she might have just told them the truth, had she caught them watching. She was furious – raging, her body burning with anger and discomfort.

She took the stairs rather than the elevator, climbing up a floor before pausing on the landing. Staring out the window, she leant against the building's old iron railings and tried to catch her breath. The sky outside was inky black, and streaked with thick snow clouds whose undersides were lit orange by the city lights. From Starling's altitude, the city lay spread out before her; all sparkling lights and shimmering glass, stone and steel and cold, unyielding towers. Rows of townhouses were visible beyond their gigantic forms and, beyond them, the river and the distant lights of the suburbs.

Arlington would shine like that tonight. Mapp should be there, wrapped up safe on her couch with Vale. But they were crouched in a cold disused house, somewhere, at the mercy of a killer. And it was her fault.

Starling did not cry, only buried her face into the back of her hands. Her minders were watching, from the landing below her – just respectful enough not to come and stand behind her – and she did not want to cry on front of them. As little as her reputation meant, these days, she did not want to flay it anymore than was necessary. Being the tragic serial killer's paramour was bad enough, being the tragic paramour who cries over losing two people she has betrayed, that was pathetic. Just pathetic.

Starling steadied herself with a deep breath and dredged herself up from self-pity. It would not do her any good. She should get herself together and go back down to the operations room. If she was lucky, she might arrive in time to find out what was going on, out in the field.

Once she had calmed herself down, she managed to take her own advice. Turning, she walked swiftly back downstairs, thanking her minders for their patience. She walked back along to the operations room and was almost in control of herself when she noticed how everybody was gathered around the table. Heads were in hands. Hands were over mouths. Faces were crestfallen.

"No..." Starling sped up, bursting in and turning directly to Pearsall. "What happened?" her voice had grown feverishly panicked again. "What happened?"

Her boss swallowed and reached out a hand to take her shoulder, comfortingly. Starling shrugged away.

"What happened? Where are Mapp and Vale? Are they hurt?"

Pearsall's eyes were sombre.

"SWAT arrived with Tac units at the location."

"And?"

Her heart was in her mouth. Her heartbeat was pumping so hard that she thought her eardrums might burst. The baby was kicking madly against her sudden rush of adrenaline.

"They found the GPS chip on the sidewalk outside the house. It had been removed from Agent Vale." Pearsall swallowed. "We have no idea where they are."

Shit was too small a word.

Starling backed slowly up and leant against the wall as her world began to crash down around her.

.


	66. Chapter 66

_Chapter 66 – Crescendo then fall_

.

Vale woke to an intense pain in his head and the taste of antifreeze on his tongue. He was face-down on something cold and wet. Gravel pressed hard against his cheek and never – never in his often painful life – had his body ached like it did now.

Every inch of him was on fire. His throat was dry. His palms stung. His muscles were tensed as if he had been crushed into the car trunk. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his ribs felt swollen too. All across his body, he was bruised and battered, skin screaming like it had been stretched too tightly across his flesh and bone. The only comfort he felt was in knowing that he was definitely alive. Dead surely could not hurt so much.

With colossal effort, he reached out with one hand, grasping at the cold wet ground. He managed to roll himself over just enough to glimpse his surroundings. It was immediately obvious that it was not the location in which he had lost consciousness.

He seemed to be lying on the floor of a warehouse. From what Vale could see, from his horizontal position, it was completely derelict. The wall to his left was missing and the remaining walls were smoke-blackened concrete. The ground beneath Vale's cheek stank of oil and industrial fuel. He could only guess that it had, at one time, been a car manufacturing plant. The smell of metal was heavy enough in the air.

The Agent lifted his head. The roof above him had caved in at some point, leaving a gaping hole. The sky he could see through it was dark, lit only faintly by the city's orange light. They were out of town, then, maybe in the suburbs. He could not tell exactly where. Despite the darkness, there were no billboards or railroad tracks in sight. The skyline behind the warehouse was low and unfamiliar. He could still hear traffic, in the background, but it was faint. Every now and then a siren wailed, growing louder then more distant. Vale wondered if they were near the hospital. There were a couple abandoned factories in that district.

Vale craned his neck, shoulders straining to lift his head further from the cold wet ground. Brian Palden's Mercedes was parked, haphazardly, ten feet away. The doors and the trunk were open. His insides seemed to melt away into panic as he remembered why he was here and what was at stake.

Mapp.

"Dee..." her name came out as a strangled cry. He tried to scramble upright, but a foot descended between his shoulder blades and he felt his body crumple back down onto the tarmac. "Dee!" he called to her again, mouth filling with dirt and oily grit. Vale thrashed around, trying to free himself, but stopped suddenly as he felt a cold gun muzzle descend onto the skin on the back of his neck.

"Mr Vale, please try and calm down."

He knew that voice.

_Palden_. It was Palden who had his foot placed against the top of Vale's back, Palden who spoke with fast and breathless words.

Everything came rushing back, crystal-clear and un-fogged by head injury. Ardelia was in danger. He had gone to meet Palden, to bluff his way through an exchange, in order to save Ardelia's life. Palden's boss had turned up and the financial advisor had flipped. Now they were all captive. Vale cursed under his breath and gave a half-hearted struggle against the pressure on his neck. Palden pressed the gun a little harder and Vale desisted.

"Where is she?" he croaked, into the gravel.

Palden gave the firearm a little turn, twisting the flesh underneath. If it had been any colder, Vale thought the metal might have stuck to his skin.

"Alive. Which is rather generous of me, really, after what you tried to pull today."

"Is she okay? What have you done to her?"

A sigh sounded behind Vale and, much to his surprise, both the gun and the foot lifted off him. Palden stepped back, feet crunching on the frozen ground. The Agent rolled over, wincing with the pain of it, and tried to raise his beaten and broken body from the tarmac. He failed, and resigned himself to lying there, panting in agony.

"My associates have taken the liberty of removing the tracking chip from your arm." Woodley's financial advisor informed him.

Vale managed to lift his head for long enough to look down.

Sure enough, his forearm was marked with a jagged incision. Blood had clotted and dried around the wound. Vale felt a sinking sense of isolation. If the chip had been taken away, Starling would have no way of finding him. There was no way of bringing the Tactical Assault team in on his location. If there was no chip, there was no backup. And he and Mapp were more than fucked. Vale felt a rush of animosity towards Starling for sending him into this situation. Then he tempered himself, remembering that he was the one who had been foolish enough to slip up in the first place.

"How did you find it?" he asked, stalling for time.

He concentrated on trying to regain enough movement in his limbs to pull himself upright. He concentrated on his need to find Mapp.

"Scanner." Palden answered his question simply. "Your girlfriend was very helpful in telling us the frequency at which to search."

"No!" Panic filled Vale and he wrenched his body up off the ground, pulling himself up into a seated position. "Where is she – what did you do to her?"

Scanning wildly around, he spotted Mapp sitting five feet away. His relief at finding her alive did not last long. She looked awful and her wrists were bound tightly. She was propped up against a thick concrete column, which had used to hold up the roof, and she was awake – though her eyes were slightly unfocussed. Her head lolled forwards on her neck. Vale's panic intensified as he realised she was not struggling to escape. That was not the Ardelia he knew. What had Palden done to her?

"You bastard, what did you do?" he cried. "If you've touched her, I swear, if you've touched her I'll fucking kill you!" He tried to get up, to get to Mapp, but his limbs did not feel like his own. Trembling and weak, he flopped about uselessly, like a fish.

Palden did not seem particularly disturbed by Vale's threats. He sighed and strode away, towards the fuzzy shapes of the two guards, who had driven sedan earlier that evening. They were holding Senator Kade Woodley between them, tied at the wrists. Unlike Mapp, the Senator was fully awake and struggling, his mouth taped over with grey in the duct tape. As Palden walked over, the guards relinquished their hold and Woodley crumbled to the floor, his legs too weak to support him. Palden dropped into crouch beside his boss, knocking the gun against his cheekbone playfully.

"Sorry about this, Kade, but you've rather forced my hand," he began.

Vale did not pay much attention to the rest of their conversation. He busy trying to right himself and scramble towards Mapp – something that was proving harder than he could ever have imagined. The blow to the head that he had received, earlier in the evening, was fucking with his senses. His balance was completely screwed, it almost a minute for the Agent to pull himself into a seated position and yet another to get both his legs and arms underneath him.

Shaking and nauseous, he crawled across the concrete floor, to Mapp's side.

"Dee," he reached one hand up, to touch her cheek. It was almost as cool as the air around them. "Dee, are you okay? What did they do to you?"

"Vale..." she slurred out his name, her face swivelling to face his. A faint smile lit her lips, but her eyes became no more focussed.

Thoughts of horrible torture shot through his mind. Had they drugged her?

"Dee, what did they do?"

Her lips twitched into another smile.

"S'fine... just a graze."

He realised that her arm was wrapped around her side and began to feel along it, fearing broken bones. What he found, however, was far worse. As he pulled his hand back from her side, it was wet with blood.

"Shit."

Peeling back her shirt elicited a whine and revealed a mess of red and pink, beneath her dark skin. It was unmistakably a gunshot wound. Vale swore and inched closer, pulling back the edge of her sweatshirt to reveal its size, a long gouge down the side of her abdomen. It was off to one side and he could only hope that it had missed any vital organs. The pallor of her skin, however, was a little pastier than usual. Even if the bullet had missed her kidneys, she had lost a lot of blood. Red stained from her chest and down to the crotch of her pants. She had been bleeding for a while.

"Oh shit, Dee, what did they do to you?" he whispered again, running one shaking hand across her face to keep him calm.

It had the opposite effect. Her skin was freezing.

"Its okay, Vale... 'm fine..." her eyelids fluttered almost close, her mouth twitching in a valiant attempt at a smile, "Jus' a bit cold..."

Vale realised that he was not wearing his coat. Palden must have taken it off when he patted him down for weapons. Pulling off his sweater, instead, he wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking the arms securely around her. It was not much, but it was all Vale could do to stave off the frigid January air. He needed to get her out of here. He needed to get her to a hospital. He had seen men die of blood loss before. Mapp did not look like she had long.

"Please," Vale turned to Palden, who was still conversing in an undertone, with the gagged Woodley. "Please, sir," 'Sir' was bitter on his tongue, but he needed to create something of a rapport with this man. "I need to get her to a hospital. I'll get you the disk, anything you need, I just-,"

Vale stopped when he realised Palden was chuckling.

"The disk?" Woodley's aide asked, throwing his head back. "Why the hell would that be any good to me now? You know what I've heard, in the last ten minutes, Mr Vale?" he asked, standing up from Woodley's side and walking over. "I just got a call, from a source inside the Bureau, to say that the illustrious Agent Starling has turned up at FBI headquarters with the gardener, Mendez, in tow. It seems he had a disk, given to him by Gabriella Woodley, which implicates myself and Mr Senator here in a lot of bad business. It seems the FBI are out searching for us, as we speak. You never had the disk, Mr Vale, you gave it to her. And even if you could get it to me now, what good would it do?" he smiled, lopsidedly, his eyes filled with unfounded glee. "The chickens, as they say, have flown the coop – the horses are out the stable door. We're screwed and fucked over, Mr Vale. No disk in the world can save us now."

Vale stared at the man unravelling before him in horror. He had no idea what to do, what to say. What do you say to a madman, to coax him off his pedestal? How do you make him lower his gun from your lover's heart?

Vale realised his hands were beginning to shake. At the back of his mind, he was running through all the hostage negotiation training he had been given during his training at the FBI Academy. There had been pitifully little of it and what little there was, he barely remembered. He needed to establish a dialogue, then find out what Palden wanted, then try to bring him around to some sort of compromise – that was the general gist of it. The exact details of negotiating were a little beyond him. The fact remained, however, that if Vale did not say something soon, Palden was going to shoot him, Mapp, and apparently Woodley too.

That last bit gave Vale an idea. It would buy him time, if nothing else.

"What did the Senator do? I don't understand," Vale motioned towards Woodley. "I thought you were working together."

Palden paced up and down for a moment, then walked over and stood next to Woodley, looking down at him as if he was considering how best to explain the situation. In the end, he reached down and ripped the duct tape off, resulting in a squawk of pain from the Senator.

"Kade, why don't you enlighten the gentleman."

"Brian..?" the Senator's eyes were wide and pleading. His leg was tied in a tight tourniquet, Vale noticed, and had stopped bleeding. It was still sitting at an odd angle. From the pallor of Woodley's skin, Vale was willing to guess he had not been given any pain medication. He looked only marginally better than Mapp and, from where Vale was sitting, did not seem to know anymore about what was going on, than he did.

Vale had the sinking feeling that they were all about to fall a little deeper down the rabbit hole. And Vale hated Alice in Wonderland.

Palden strode up and down on front of Woodley, giving the occasional theatrical wave of his handgun.

"Mr Vale here was going to try and rip me off tonight." The small man announced loudly, to the room.

Vale wondered who he was talking to. Woodley did not seem to be listening. Vale already knew, and the men holding the guns were hardly here out of political ideology – they were presumably being paid a lot of money for their trouble. The monologue, it seemed, was entirely for Palden's own benefit. The man had completely lost it.

"He had a disk that belonged to us." Palden continued. "You know the one, Kade?"

"Yes, Brian, but why all of this?" Woodley looked around. The three armed men were standing in a sinister triad, next to the black sedan, guns held loosely at their sides – ready to move should anyone look like they were threatening their master. Woodley addressed them, too, as he continued. The effort looked like it was destroying him. His cheeks had turned even paler. "Why did any of you do this? Surely you know you won't get away with this – I'm a United States Senator, for Christ's sake!"

"I'm afraid, Kade, we're all in this for the same reason." Palden sighed.

"It can't be about the money, Brian," Woodley shook his head in stubborn disbelief. "I've seen you, I've seen the work you've put into this campaign. You care – I know you do!"

Palden watched his one-time master with an air of mild surprise.

"Oh come now, don't tell me you have no idea of your net worth, Senator?" his lips curled into a malicious smile. His dark eyes were empty and savage. "If you ran for governor this year and then president two years after, you would have been a billion-dollar man. And I would be your man, at your right-hand, like I've always been. This was always about the money."

"But, if it's about the money, why ruin a good thing with all of this...?" Woodley looked around. "Why kidnap a woman and hold a Federal Agent hostage? Was it really worth ruining everything, to protect this disk, Brian? It was just one deal – one deal with a guy who turned out to be working with a known mafia boss. We didn't even have any idea, at the time. Even if it had got out, we would have got no more than a slap on the wrist, from the authorities. It would have hurt the campaign, sure, but we would fight again. People have been smeared worse and come out of it." Woodley panted out these last words, one shaking hand grasping his thigh.

"One deal..." Palden sighed wistfully.

"One deal?" Vale asked, sceptically. He was not sure if he believed the way things were unfolding. Was it possible that Woodley really not know the depths of his own corruption?

"I'm cold." Mapp whispered, against Vale's shoulder. She was no longer shivering. Her neck was limp.

"I know..." Vale pulled her closer, holding her tight. He placed one hand against her cheek, warming her skin. "I know, just hold on, ok? Just hold on..."

Her eyes fluttered closed again. Vale looked back at Palden and Woodley, who were both watching them.

"Please, I need to get her to hospital." Vale pleaded, trying to regulate the waver in his voice.

"He's right, Brian, you've gotta call an ambulance." The Senator said, quietly. "You don't want her blood on your hands."

"Please..."

Palden sighed slowly and began to pace again.

"Sorry, guys, that's just not possible."

As the feeling returned to Vale's feet and he thought he might be able to walk, he considered leaping towards Palden and trying to disarm the man, but decided against it. Palden was moving far too quickly and, despite not looking quite at home with the gun, his finger was curled around the trigger. Vale knew he would not hesitate to pull it. He already had, tonight.

"I'm sorry I had to shoot her at all, you know, but she was trying to escape and I couldn't let that happen..."

"Why did you do all of this, Brian?" Woodley asked again, shaking his head in disbelief.

Vale recognised the expression the Senator was wearing. He had worn one similar that morning, when he had learned of Starling's betrayal. He was almost positive that Woodley's ignorance was legitimate. Unsurprisingly, this did nothing to make him feel better. Their situation remained the same.

"Why did I do all of this?" Palden walked over to the sedan and leant back against it, with a heavy sigh. "I did it because I _had to_, Kade. There was a lot more on that disk than one dodgy deal, with a minor mafia boss. That disk had our whole financial plan – everyone we were in bed with, everyone we were paying off."

"Paying off?"

Palden laughed, dryly.

"Oh Kade, you always were an idealist. That part of your campaign was not a lie." He rubbed his forehead with the side of the gun barrel. "I honestly believe you wanted to change the world – that's why I chose you. I thought we could be something. I mean, I'll admit that my interest was primarily financial," he sighed, "but you had some beautiful ideas. Your ten-year defence plan alone stands above anything the other candidates were proposing."

"What do you mean 'chose me'," Woodley frowned. "Who are you paying off, Brian, and why? I don't understand."

Vale understood. He turned his face away from the two men and rested it on Mapp's, trying to share some of his heat with her as his fingers struggled with her bonds. He knew it was useless. Even if he managed to release her, then Palden and his men still had guns – and she was still injured too badly to walk – but he had to do something.

"Of course you don't understand." Palden's voice continued in the background. Vale glanced over just in time to see him lift the gun and aimed it, nonchalantly, at Kade Woodley's head.

Vale's hands froze on Mapp's bindings.

Something in Woodley's eyes shifted and Vale saw him change tact.

"Okay, okay," he attempted a smile, through his pale lips. It was completely negated by the terror in his eyes. "Brian, let's just chill for a second, okay? I mean, I get where you're coming from. You wanted to do what's best for the campaign, right?"

Palden watched, without reaction.

"You were just trying to help," Woodley continued, breathlessly. "So, what's the big deal if you paid off a few cops? Right?" Woodley shuffled over onto his knees and, with great difficulty and a couple of gasps of pain, stood up on one leg. Palden let him rise, watching all the while with nothing more than mild interest. "Come on, Brian, this is reparable. We can deal with this. I'll have your back, we'll go into the police, right now. They'll cut you a deal. You've done so much for this country."

Palden's stoic expression split and he gave a bark of laughter.

"Kade, please, don't degrade yourself by lying to me. Both of us know you would throw me to the wolves! I might be the shark, but you can bite pretty bad too, when you need to."

"Brian..."

"And it's not just a few cops, there is more than one dodgy deal on that disk." Palden paced a little closer to the Senator, placing the gun level with his chest. Woodley flinched and wavered on his bloody leg but, to his credit, did not look away. "Our campaign was flash, Kade, and flash is expensive. We had a lot of financiers. There were a lot of people who were willing to part with a little money for a little of our discretion."

"Discretion?" Woodley asked quietly, as if hardly daring to speak.

"Oh, you know the kind of discretion one can exert from Capitol Hill... We vouched for a couple of businessmen, got a shoe-in for a couple of police officers, recommended a couple of guys got moved up the list for the FBI Academy. It was really quite easy, you know." Palden sighed. "I perfected your signature within the first week of my posting.

Vale sat on edge, aware that there might never be a better time to get his ass out of this mess. Palden was beginning to get restless and there was only so long the villain got to monologue before he started shooting people. Sliding his arm free from around Mapp, Vale began to stand up. He had to act now.

"Sir?" he spoke up.

Both Palden and Woodley looked over, in surprise. Palden's guards raised their rifles. Apparently they had all forgotten he was still in the room.

"I can help you, now." Vale spoke calmly, placing both hands on his head as he stepped slowly towards Palden. Woodley's financial advisor considered him for a moment then turned his gun from Woodley to aim at Vale's head. It was done with the same nonchalance as he had shown earlier, before he shot Woodley in the leg. Taking a steadying breath, Vale forced himself to continue. "Listen, as you know, I'm an FBI Agent. If you agree to cooperate with me, we can help you out of this situation. The Bureau will be willing to make a deal, for two FBI Agents and a United States Senator. They will offer you terms."

Palden gave a laugh that was almost a giggle and muttered 'terms' quietly, almost to himself. He said no more.

Woodley licked his lips and leant forwards, begging Palden's attention back in his direction.

"Brian, this man's telling the truth. He works for the FBI. I met him when he was working the Mendez case," he explained. "He can help."

"He can help? Hell, Kade, Mendez is the whole reason we're in this fix in the first place." Palden sighed. "If it weren't for Mendez then your wife would have never thought of telling you all those things... she would have never..." another sigh, another rub of his temples. "Ah, shit, Kade..."

For the first time that evening, Palden looked truly distracted. His short body had suddenly tensed, his wirey arms twitching as they held the gun. He moved away from Woodley and began to pace up and down again.

A frown began to grow across Woodley's characteristically smooth brow.

"What does any of this have to do with my wife?"

Vale felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not going to end well – for any of them.

"Your wife." Palden smiled wistfully. "Oh, Gabriella... she was so nosy, more than nosy, in fact, when it came to your financial business. You should have thrown her a few more credit cards, cut her a key to a fancy house in the Hamptons or something, Kade. She really needed something more to do with her life than sniff around your business and bang Mexican pool boys."

"He was a gardener," Woodley muttered, his face growing more tense and drawn by the minute.

Vale wondered if he knew yet, if he had pieced it all together.

"Whatever." The Senator's aide had a nasty little smirk on his face. He waved one hand dismissively. "She was bored, Kade. You should have given her more to do. Then she wouldn't have been lurking around the office, that evening. It's your fault, really. It's your fault she overheard a phone call, from me to one of our financiers. It's your fault she decided to do a little digging." Palden placed the gun over his chest, tapping away to punctuate each of his words. "She found out what was going on, Kade, and I couldn't let that happen! It would have killed us, if any of that had gotten out, and I worked too hard on your damned campaign to watch it all go up in smoke. We were a few months away, we were almost there." He sighed. "I didn't have another option. No. Other. Option." He enunciated the last three words very clearly and then turned, shaking his head. "I tried to talk to her, of course, tried to talk her out of it, but she wasn't going to budge. She was going to tell the cops everything. I tried to use that stupid Mexican boy and her affair as leverage but she wouldn't listen..."

Vale watched on, a complete understanding of the situation coming over him for the first time. Despite the terror running through his veins, it was all starting to make sense. He chanced a look over at Woodley – to try and judge how much of this he had known – and he saw that the Senator's jaw was hanging open. He was gaping at Palden with a mixture of disgust and betrayal. Vale expected that he was coming to an understanding too. It did not occur to the Agent, within the first few seconds, to do anything about it.

He regretted that, almost immediately.

The attack happened like a slow-motion scene from an action film. Woodley's muscles tensed and a furious expression swept across his face, distorting his normally handsome features. The pain of his leg seemed to be overcome by his feelings of rage and he sprung towards Palden, his body stretched out to its fullest length. It was impressive. Woodley truly was a behemoth of a man. And, having been football player at college, he knew how to throw a tackle.

As Woodley soared towards him, Palden's face contracted in twisted fear. Vale saw him falter and, for a moment, he thought Woodley was going to reach him before Palden could reach his gun. Then, with astonishing speed, Palden drew the gun, lifted it to chest-height and shot twice. Vale tried to jump forwards. (He had no idea what he was going to do, but Woodley was a United States Senator and Vale was an FBI Agent. It was his job to protect him). But he was far too late. Gunfire cracked through the air, echoing off the walls of the cavernous warehouse, and Woodley crumpled to the floor.

Everybody stood stock-still for a few moments, and then Palden swore loudly.

"Fuck!"

His arm, still held in the firing position, was shaking slightly. His skin looked almost luminescent – the sheen of sweat catching the dim floodlights from the warehouse walls. He stood in the same position for almost ten more seconds, then he seemed to collapse in on himself. Staggering backwards, he began to pace back and forth, muttering all the while.

"Shit... fuck... shit..."

Vale, who had thrown himself a couple of feet forwards, in his subconscious effort to save the Senator, picked himself quickly up off the floor and scrambled back towards Mapp. Positioning himself between his barely-conscious girlfriend and the man pacing anxiously across from them, he tried to look as immovable as possible.

This was bad, very bad. Things had begun to deteriorate, fast. If the chances of them surviving this had been slim, they were now virtually non-existent. Palden was muttering darkly to himself, tapping the gun against his forehead with each step. The only thing which had been keeping Vale and Mapp alive – the conversation between Palden and Woodley – was not at an abrupt and rather final end.

Palden seemed almost as disturbed at this as Vale was.

"What did you do that for?" he screamed, down at Woodley's still body.

Vale could not see where the bullet had hit, but the way Woodley had crumpled did not look good. His neck was bent to one side. His arm was at an odd angle.

"What the hell did you do that for, you stupid, stupid man! Look what you made me do!" he walked forwards and made as if to push the body, to check if it was still living, then drew back – through disgust or fear, Vale could not tell. "Shit... You weren't supposed to die." Palden rubbed his free hand over his lower face.

The three guards who had stood, motionless beside the sedan were now standing with their guns half-raised. One of them was shaking, slightly. Vale looked between them and Palden and wondered, for a moment, if the situation was reparable. Perhaps he could get these men on side. But as he made a half-movement to get up, they swung their attention back onto him, guns raised.

Vale lowered himself back into the ground, hands raised.

"Take it easy... take it easy..." he muttered, softly.

Palden was still focussed on Woodley, pacing up and down and swearing profusely.

A few moment passed in strained silence then one of the guards, the youngest of the three – a blonde guy who could not have been more than twenty-one – stepped forwards. Lowering his weapon, he faced Palden with imploring eyes.

"Sir, perhaps we should go. This is getting out of hand. Someone will have heard that gunshot and have called the cops. If we don't leave now, we could be cornered."

Palden nodded distractedly for a moment, then his eyes raised and he fixed them on the guard. With a snarl of rage, he closed the distance between them and shot off three rounds, catching the young man in the leg. The young man fell to the ground, howling in pain and dismay.

"Who do you think you are?" Palden shouted, down at him. "I pay you to stand and shoot. If I had wanted an advisor I would have hired one!" he paced angrily away again, leaving the young man screaming in agony on the floor.

Vale looked frantically between the other two guards. Neither of them had flinched when Palden had killed their comrade. No point in trying to negotiate for their freedom then, thought Vale, moving a little closer to Mapp's side.

"I make the orders." Palden snapped and paced away again, calling out to his other two men, "Am I right?"

"Yes sir." They chorused, without pause.

Vale felt his stomach fall a little deeper into his belly. Great. Ex-military mercenaries. He crushed himself closer to Mapp, hoping against hope that someone would come, that something would happen to change the status quo. There were three of them against one and they were armed. Mapp was bleeding out slowly, she needed to get to a hospital. He leant back against her, trying to keep her as close as possible while shielding her. She was so cold!

Palden turned to Vale and started to walk slowly towards him. He was wearing that manic smile again, a smile which was all the more terrifying after Vale had watched him shoot two men in cold blood. By now, Vale knew that Palden was not thinking straight; they were all at the mercy of a man on a mental break. The gunshots had been loud someone was bound to hear them. If Palden had any sense, he would leave now. But he showed no such intentions. He was advancing on Mapp and Vale bearing a gun. His own freedom was now secondary to their demise. All Vale could do now was stall and hope that somebody had called the police.

He held his breath, momentarily, watching Palden grow closer. Such was the intensity of his wishing that Vale could almost hear armed men leaping in through the half-open warehouse doors, bursting around the open wall and commanding Palden to drop his weapon. When he breathed out, however, only silence filled his ears. They were alone; just him, Mapp and men with guns who wanted to kill them. Nobody was coming for them. Not today.

This was it.

Pressing himself against his girlfriend's side, Vale knew that he had no qualms about dying for her. But to die in this place, at the hands of a deranged madman, was almost more than he could bear. After all they had done for this country, all they had fought for, all the lives they had saved; this should not be the way they went out. They were going to die in the cold and wet, bleeding out to the sound of another man's screams. They were going to die without meaning, without any cause greater than one man's greed, gone awry. Surely there was supposed to be more than this?

"Say goodbye to her, Agent Vale," Palden's voice was coldly humorous. "I'll allow you that."

"Vale..." Mapp whispered, beside him.

"I know." He turned away from Palden, facing her. If he was going to die, he did not want that man's face to be the last thing he saw. "I know, just come here."

He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, awkwardly pulling her face against his. Her skin was cold, her eyes were barely open. She managed a smile as their foreheads touched.

"Some date, huh?" she whispered, her voice coarse.

That broke him inside, but he kept staring into her eyes. They were huge and dark and Vale wished he could be swallowed up by them, that they could disappear inside one another and wake up somewhere else, somewhere safe and far away from here. He was dimly aware of Palden's footsteps growing closer, but he blocked them out. He focussed on Mapp.

"Come on, you've had worse..." he whispered, against her cheek. A half-gasp, half-sob escaped him. He was so angry, so terrified, so helpless. He wanted to save her, but he couldn't. This was all his fault. "...I'm so sorry, Dee."

Her hand, weak and cold, found his in the darkness. She squeezed gently.

"Don't be sorry, Vale. This is what we do. We let them come…" her voice was coming out in harsh panting sounds. "We fight, we save as many… as many as we can… for as long as we can. Then one day," she coughed, a little blood appearing on her lips, "we fall, and that's okay." She panted. "That's the job." Her cheek twitched, drawing her lips into a strange cold smile. "An' we do it… cause we get to save a few more than we don' save. It's just a number game, Benedict."

"It's a shit game." Vale whispered back, wiping the blood from her lip.

He felt a hot tear collect in the crevice below his eye. He knew he would give up a thousand lives to see her live. He knew it was wrong, but he would not falter. If there had been anything he could do to save her, he would have done it. Vale gripped her hand and squeezed it tight, trying not to think about how softly her heart beat, how cold her skin was growing.

"Its okay, Vale," she whispered against his cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, she was fading from him. "We weren't meant for anything more." Her voice was growing quieter, her breathing more shallow. "We were born to give 'em hell."

Vale turned his angry eyes one last time on Palden, who was standing over them holding the gun.

As he raised the silver muzzle, Vale knew this was the time to jump at him, to try and knock the gun away and buy Mapp a few more seconds, but he couldn't. There was no noise of a chopper or of cars pulling up outside. There was no noise of footsteps on the ground, of gunmetal clinking and the beep of radios. SWAT was not coming. The FBI was not coming. They were completely alone – just he and Mapp – and Vale did not want the last thing he saw to be Palden's face.

Turning back to his lover, he rested his head against hers.

"We gave 'em hell, Dee."

"Damn right." She whispered back.

Somewhere overhead, the safety clicked off and gunfire echoed around the warehouse. It rose in waves, intensifying only to disappear again, into nothing; crescendo then fall. In the silence that followed, shell casings fell like raindrops to the floor. They echoed too.

.


	67. Chapter 67

_Chapter 67 – A number game_

.

After the gunshots, Vale remained frozen for a good half a minute. He did not move, did not breathe, tried very hard not to think. He concentrated solely on the feel of Ardelia Mapp's hand under his own, her pulse beating weakly against his arm, through her wrist. He concentrated on the feel of her breath, warm against his skin. After thirty seconds had passed, Vale began to grow slightly suspicious. This was not what he had expected death to feel like. There had been no starburst of pain and no blackness overtaking him. He had felt no bullet to bring his life flashing before his eyes. There had been no bright lights or ethereal music. This could not be right.

Carefully, lest the universe realise it had made a mistake and death reclaim him, Vale parted his eyelids and looked around.

The room was black. The lights which had lit them, from the side of the warehouse were no longer shining. Squinting through the darkness, with only the pale light from outside to assist him, Vale could see that they were shattered. Shot out. Vale's forehead furrowed. There had been nine gunshots. Vale counted had them, instinctively, (just in case some miracle occurred and he ever had to write a report on this). One, two-three, four, five, six-seven-eight, nine – they happened in that pattern, some grouped together like they came from the same gun.

He looked down at Mapp, cradled against his side. She had slipped into unconsciousness, her body limp, but she was still breathing. As was he.

Pleasure swept through him, a kind which he had nothing to equate to. It was relief and joy combined into one, a heady mix which left him feeling breathless and dizzy. Grasping onto Mapp, he looked over to where Palden had stood and saw him lying on the ground in a twisted pile. He was face-down, the gun grasped loosely in one lifeless hand. Quite dead.

Vale stared. So the madman was dead. They were safe, for the time being. The pleasure at finding himself alive began to fade into subsidence as a strange numbness crept through him. Vale knew he was slipping into shock, and that he should catch himself, but he could not quite tear his eyes away from the pool of blood that was growing steadily larger around Palden's head. One edge of the puddle had found a ravine in the concrete and was travelling along it, stretching out towards Vale like a long red finger.

Had the man shot himself in the head? Surely not, Vale did not know Palden, but he had sounded like a man with a great deal of interest in self-preservation. And why would he have shot out the lights before he went down? Who had saved them then – was it SWAT, or the FBI Tactical Unit?

Wrenching his eyes off of Palden's body, Vale searched the dark warehouse. There was no obvious sign that SWAT or Tactical had descended on the place. There were no footsteps, no shouting of orders and no sound of guns clinking against one another. Vale frowned, squinting. Without the lights, the depths of the warehouse were too shadowy for him to make out much but he thought he could see the bodies of the three guards and Woodley still lying on the ground, a little distance from Palden. Perhaps the guards had turned on Palden, after all, and there had been a shoot-out? Vale could find no other explanation for his survival.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a car's engine turning over and the Mercedes' lights flashed into life. Plunged into light, from darkness, Vale gave a yelp of surprise. The headlights were so intense that they felt like they were burning. Cringing away, into Mapp's side, he shielded his eyes with one hand. The lights did not move, indicating that whoever had started the car had done so for the benefit of the lights rather than as a method of escape. Perhaps this, Vale thought, was his mysterious saviour.

There was the soft gunning of an engine and the lights shifted over, lifting their burning intensity off of Vale's face and onto the body of Palden, beside them. Vale slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the new light. Everything was fuzzy.

"Agents Vale and Mapp, I presume." A cool voice came from the darkness, accompanied by a slamming of a car door and footsteps on the gritty concrete.

Vale squinted against the strong light. A figure had appeared on front of it, tall and broad enough for Vale to know it was a man, but not immediately recognisable. As the figure stepped closer, however, and became less silhouetted by the light, Vale recognised it. His heart may have stopped beating, then.

Standing close, far closer than Vale would ever have been comfortable having him, was Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

Vale gawped. He was fairly sure his mind had frozen in shock because, when he next blinked, time seemed to have passed inordinately quickly. His head was buzzing and Lecter had taken a few steps forwards, so that he was standing directly on front of him. Dressed in black and carrying a hook-shaped knife, he looked every bit what Vale had imagined and worse. He appeared to have been wiping the blade of his knife clean on the upholstery of Palden's Mercedes.

"Shit." Vale muttered, under his breath.

Despite having indirectly saved their lives, in disposing of Palden, Vale had no idea what Lecter's intentions were. He was, after all, a convicted serial killer who Vale had managed to piss off that very morning, barging in on him in his post-coital clinch, with news of Mapp's capture. Vale had no way of knowing what Hannibal Lecter was about to do.

The Doctor tilted his head at Vale, expectantly.

"Are you wounded?" he asked, very calmly.

Vale could not find it in his vocal cords to reply. He simply shook his head.

Another silence followed, as intense and terror-laden as the last. Vale stared up at Lecter in confusion and the Doctor looked steadily back, his expression shifting to one of slight annoyance – as if this was all a great inconvenience, which his evening could have done without.

"Is she dead?" he eventually asked Vale again, pointing to Mapp.

The FBI Agent shook his head.

"One GSW to the abdomen, there's a lot of blood." His voice came out in a croak, surprising Vale, who had not expected to manage English words at all – never mind a completely sentence.

It must have been an automatic reaction. Injuries came first in the battlefield.

"Okie dokie then..."The Doctor walked forwards, stepping over the prone body of Mr Palden without a second look.

As he approached, Vale tensed, moving on front of Mapp protectively. Lecter ignored him and continued to move up to their side. Vale made a small noise of protest. Lecter was still carrying a knife and Vale was still unarmed. Despite his having disposed of Palden, Vale trusted the Doctor as much as he trusted a shark.

"Stay away from her." He hissed.

Lecter looked vexed.

"She is going to bleed out and die, within the next ten minutes. I can help her."

"Y-you might..." Vale faltered, not sure of which horror to list first. The pain that Hannibal Lecter could inflict upon his girlfriend was nearly endless. Vale had read the files, he had -seen what the man who stood on front of him was capable of. He was a killer, a cold-blooded, sociopathic killer who enjoyed what he did. "Just stay away from her," he repeated, one of his fists balling instinctively.

Lecter sighed.

"If I had wished either of you ill, then I would have let this man kill you." The Doctor motioned towards Palden's body as he took another step towards them. "Please understand that Miss Mapp's continued existence is of great interest to me, personally."

"Oh yeah, and why is that?" Vale spat.

"As you know, I have a vested interest in keeping her friend happy." Lecter answered, a tad snidely.

Heartbeats passed in silence. Vale was not sure what to do. He did not trust Lecter one bit, but Lecter was the only person who could help Mapp, right now, and Vale loved Mapp. He could not see her die. Slowly, with air of resignation, Vale pulled himself to his knees. He still felt dizzy and his legs were barely functioning, but helping Mapp was foremost in his mind. His own discomfort could wait.

"Is she going to die?" he asked the Doctor.

"She might." Lecter shrugged. "I called the ambulance upon arrival, but they will not be here for another twenty minutes."

Vale reached down, running his hands across Mapp's. Her fingers did not even twitch, in response to his gentle squeeze.

"She doesn't have twenty minutes, does she?"

"No."

The FBI Agent looked back up at the cannibal.

The cannibal stared stolidly back.

"Okay." Exhaling, to steady himself, Vale motioned for Lecter to come forwards. "Help her."

Lecter stepped forwards, moving up to Mapp's side. As they passed, they maintained a safe distance from one another. It seemed the distrust Vale felt was completely reciprocated. Casting one last wary glance towards the FBI Agent, the Doctor lowered himself into a crouch, taking Mapp's arm gently.

"Help to roll her flat." He commanded, quietly.

Vale did as he was told, helping Lecter roll Mapp onto her back and arranging the sweatshirt underneath her head as a pillow. Meanwhile, the Doctor checked her pulse and poke and prodded her. Vale hoped he was doing legitimate medical tests and not trying to judge whether she would make better steak or casserole.

Apparently, the tests showed that Mapp was worse than he had thought, because the Doctor began to mutter under his breath, digging in his pockets. Vale, who was still concussed and very much in shock, barely had time to let out a yelp of surprise as Lecter produced the curved knife. For a horrible few seconds, during which Vale was rooted, frozen to the spot, he thought the Doctor was about to gut her, but he simply used the knife to slice up the centre of Mapp's sweatshirt. The material parted like water, revealing her smooth dark skin, painted red with blood.

Mapp stirred slightly, but did not wake.

Lecter threw Vale a derisive look, as if to chide him for his noise of protest.

"No harm..." he reminded the Agent, icily.

"Well I'm sorry if I don't entirely trust you." Vale snapped, defensively. "You've not exactly stuck to your Hippocratic oath, so far."

"Then I suppose it is fortunate, that what I need to do does not require your trust." The Doctor pulled Mapp's clothing free of her, save her bra, and divided them into piles. The less bloodied, he ripped to create a long strip and a bandage. "Just try and keep your mouth shut and hold her still."

"Why, what are you going to-,"

Vale did not have a chance to ask the complete question, for Lecter reached forwards and packed strips of fabric, from her shirt, into the lower half of the wound. Holding the wad of fabric in place with one hand, he slipped the strip of fabric around Mapp's side with the other – a little too roughly, in Vale's opinion. He tied it tightly. Blood oozed copiously from beneath, turning the once-beige fabric a deep scarlet.

"You're making it worse," Vale cried, in distress. "She's bleeding more than she was before!"

"Which one of us has an MD, Mr Vale?"

"Which one of us has been imprisoned for serial murder?" Vale retorted.

The Doctor stilled his hands and turned slowly to Vale, staring him down.

Vale quailed under his gaze.

"I am afraid those questions are mutually exclusive, Mr Vale. So, if you would like your friend to live, kindly shut up and give me your hand. Let us have you do something useful."

Vale, still shaking but wearing a great facade of bravado, stretched his hand forwards, palm-up. Lecter took it and turned it, placing it inside the wound. Leading Vale's fingers through the hot wetness of her, he placed it near the top of the wound. His fingertips contacted with something he imagined was muscle. It was slightly fibrous. Vale gave a soft noise of distress.

"You are pressing on a hole in her abdominal wall. From what I can see, the wound was a through-shot and has not ruptured anything to severe. There is damage to some of the smaller branches of," he paused, perhaps realising that Vale's grasp on anatomy was not equivalent to his own, and simplified what he was about to say. "An artery." Lecter checked the tightness of the bandage and nodded to himself. "Apply pressure superior to this point and it might stop her bleeding out."

"Might? Shit, I can't do this!" Vale whispered, with growing desperation.

"You have to. I must leave and this has the dual effect of saving her life and stopping you from following me – or shooting me," Lecter added, with a somewhat nasty look in Vale's direction.

"I can't..." Vale whispered again.

"Have you got a hold?"

Vale nodded.

Lecter withdrew his hand and the FBI Agent felt a rising panic. He had his hand inside Mapp's belly, pressing down on something that carried her life blood. If he messed this up, she would die. Shit, he swore to himself, he couldn't do this. He was not trained for this!

Trying like mad to keep his hand still and pressed down on her, he looked up at Lecter, who was now checking Mapp's eyes.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Trying to determine whether she has suffered any brain damage." The Doctor replied, lightly.

"Shit..." Vale felt suddenly sick. This was all going far too fast. "...shit."

Lecter ignored him and continued to check things, eyes and pulse and reflexes. It was not until Vale swore again, that he seemed to notice that the Agent was slipping into a state of frozen shock. Pausing in his ministrations, one hand still on Mapp's cheek, he glanced over.

"So far as I can see, she is functioning fine, Mr Vale."

Vale did not realise it at the time, but later he would see that Lecter's tone was as close to comforting as it ever got. Clearing his throat, the Doctor gave Vale one last look, exhaled and went back to his work. He poked and prodded for another minute or so then, supposedly satisfied with her, he leant back on his heels and stood up.

"Right. Now, try not to panic," he told Vale, wiping blood from his hands onto the leg of his trousers. "Keep a hold on that artery and monitor her heartbeat as well as you can. If it stops, that means she has gone into cardiac arrest and you will have to use your free hand to compress her chest. You are qualified to do that, am I correct?"

Vale nodded. He had done the classes during qualifications. A long time ago. He thought he remembered.

"Excellent." Lecter licked his lip absently. "Firm and relatively heavy, every three seconds. Don't bother with the breathing, just concentrate on the compressions. They are more pertinent to maintaining oxygenation."

Vale was glad that Lecter did not cite the extreme improbability of CPR actually reviving a person, performed by a non-MD, while in the field. Vale had heard the statistics, and he did not want to think about them right now.

"Are you going now?" he asked, in a small voice. Some part of him wanted Lecter to stay, just because he was another living person and Vale wished, like hell, that he didn't have to be alone right now. What if Mapp began to slip away? He was not sure he could do this.

"I must."

"But, you've not explained any of this. Why did you come here? How did you even find me?" Vale asked, shaking and trying like mad to procrastinate.

"I followed the two guards in the sedan." Lecter told him, voice soft. "They followed no clearing route, so it was easy to track them to the meeting place." Simple and effective. Very Lecter. "And as for why I came..." Lecter took a long sigh. "Your partner, my lover, has many admirable qualities. She also has many trouble-attracting qualities, one of which is the way she gravitates towards a creature in distress – a creature in which she sees herself. I suppose you'll know this story, Mr Vale, as you've listened to the tapes in my case file, but when Clarice Starling once carried a lamb for five miles, to try and spare it the inevitability of the slaughterhouse. She thought if she could save just one, then she would be able to sleep at night. Today, Mendez is her lamb." Lecter's eyes were hard, uncompromising. "She needs to save him and I need her. _That_ is why I am here."

The two men watched each other for a few seconds.

"You love her, don't you? Starling, I mean." Vale paused, and then continued, a little hesitantly. "It's just... whatever's happened between me and her, she's my friend, so... I need to know."

Lecter's expression changed, infinitesimally. His forehead contracted, a small line appearing between his eyebrows.

"Some things are better with two, Mr Vale." His dark eyes held a mild warning. "That is as much as I am willing to say on the matter." He checked his watch. "I really must go." And, turning on his heel, the Doctor began to beat a swift retreat across the warehouse. He moved softly, stepping around the prone bodies of the men he had falled.

Vale watched him go, unable to hold back one parting question.

"Did Starling ask you to follow me?"

Lecter faltered, half-turning.

"No," maroon eyes flashed dangerously, in the half-light. "She did not have to. That's how it works, Mr Vale. If you are lucky, one day you will understand that." Lecter took another step towards the exit, and lifted the curved knife in some strange sort of farewell. "Keep constant pressure through the compressions." He called, as he left.

His words echoed long after he had disappeared into the dark.

.

Vale was left alone, gripping onto Mapp's wet side with shaking fingers. Her makeshift bandage was growing more bloodied by the second and Vale could not help but feel that he had strolled into some surrealistic nightmare.

He felt as if he would wake any second, to find he had fallen asleep at his office desk. Starling would be rambling on about some Bureaucrat and he would have drooled on his hand. Mapp would be safe at home, tucked up in bed and nobody would be bleeding, or hurt. It would all have been some horrific dream and Vale would not have his hand inside his girlfriend's dying chest. Lecter would be safe in a cage somewhere, where he belonged – not schooling Vale on the finer aspects of love and compromise.

Vale gripped on tightly to Mapp's hand and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, when he opened them, the warehouse had not vanished. He was still sitting on the cold gritty concrete. His hand was still tucked into the warmth of Ardelia Mapp's bloody abdomen. She was still breathing harshly in the darkness.

The situation felt even more surreal after having reaffirmed that it was not a dream. Hannibal Lecter had just come to his rescue. Hannibal Lecter had just fixed Mapp and called an ambulance to save their lives. Granted, he had not placed himself in shackles and handed Vale a gun, but it was more than Vale had ever expected of the cannibal. And rather more, Vale also expected, than Lecter had ever expected to give. At points, during their uncomfortable conversation, he had looked a little unsure. It was an expression that Vale had never seen him wear before and it made him look infinitely more human.

That, in itself, was disturbing.

Looking down at his lover, Vale could not help but wonder whether what she had said earlier was right. If a man like Doctor Hannibal Lecter could heal as well as kill, what really separated them? Was it solely that Vale had saved a few more lives than he had ended, and that Hannibal had saved a few less? Was it really just a number game?

His thoughts were beginning to blur. His head ached so badly.

"Hold on, Dee." He whispered down, at his girl's still form.

With his hand inside her, he could not reach her face. He stroked the only part of her he could reach, her forearm, fingers playing across her paling skin. She was deathly cold. Blood seeped over his fingers – the only part of her that carried any heat. It felt like all the life was leaving her slowly. Each breath, each heartbeat carried her further from him.

Closing his eyes, Vale tried to concentrate on anything other than Mapp's dying body. He concentrated on sounds; the warehouse was full of sounds. Wind whistled through the partly collapsed roof, swirling down and rattling loose metal sheets that lay against the opposite wall. Somewhere, in the darkness, something was dripping steadily. The breathing of at least one of the fallen guards accompanied Vale's and Mapp's, but Vale could not move to investigate which one was still living. Certainly, the man who had been shot in the leg earlier was now lying very still, as was Kade Woodley. Had Lecter killed the guards to get to them? Had they deserved it?

Vale pushed thought from his mind. Concentrate on sound, he reminded himself. Sound was easier. He was less likely to panic and pass out if he concentrated on sounds. The wind wailed, the warehouse dripped, but, apart from that, everything was quiet. Everything was still. The rush of traffic, in the distance, was like running water. Calming, soothing.

A siren wailed, steadily louder. Steadily closer. _Closer!_

Vale's eyes shot open.

"Hey!" he shouted, heart leaping into his throat with sudden hope. An ambulance was drawing up outside, he could see its red and blue lights travelling in, across the walls.

Voices called out for him, in the distance, just as Vale's mind was beginning to slip into unconsciousness. There was a strange ringing in his ears. The siren was pulsing to the same rate as his heartbeat, his body was singing with adrenaline. He started to scream as loudly as he could, not entirely sure what he was saying, by this point. He was focussed solely on getting the paramedics in as quickly as possible.

"Hey, in here!" he yelled, as loudly as he could "We're in here!"

Consciousness was fading as quickly as it had come. The head wound that he had received, at Palden's hand, was beginning to get the better of him. His eyes hurt with the stress of keeping them open. The buzzing in his ears was getting louder, higher. The world was beginning to blur. Any moment, now, he was going to pass out and he needed to get the medics to Mapp before he did. He shouted again and again, trying to provide a steady sound for their saviours to gravitate towards them. But his voice was hoarse and beginning to fail. The world was blurring fast.

"Over here!"

As his eyes began to slip closed, Vale felt a rush of relief. Beyond the light cast by the Mercedes' lights, two men were running towards them, one grasping a medic's bag. As they drew closer, he tried to call out again, but words failed him. He fell sideways.

Someone's hand slipped over his own and pulled him free of Mapp's bloodied side. He would have protested, but he was too weak and another pair of strong arms was grasping his shoulders, rolling him onto his back. Everything was starting to move slower. The ringing in his ears had stopped and the world had grown oddly silent. His tongue felt huge inside his mouth. He could not have talked if he had wanted to, so he called her name inside his head.

_Dee. _

_Hold on, Dee, they're here for us. They came._

The face of a paramedic appeared over him, shining a light in his eyes, and everything began to fade into nothingness. Dark blue surrounded him – not black, as he had expected, but definitely dark blue – pervading every corner of his mind. For a few split seconds, Vale was aware of nothing other than his heart beating and his own thoughts. Then unconsciousness took him, intoxicating and overwhelming. It slipped slowly over him like a blanket and, like a child being set to bed, he surrendered to it.

.


	68. Chapter 68

_Chapter 68 – Lamb_

_._

The hospital machines beeped incessantly. Starling knew she should be reassured, but she could not bring herself to feel okay until she saw Vale's eyes open. Biting her lower lip, she perched on the edge of her chair, arms wrapped around her pregnant belly. She felt heavier this evening than she ever had before.

The ambulance had picked Vale up after an anonymous caller had given their location, deep within the Ivy City neighbourhood. They had arrived to find Vale clutching Mapp's bloodied body, on the floor of the warehouse. They had been lying next to the bodies of two unconscious guards, who were now in the hospital ICU. Another guard, who had been shot in the leg, had died on the way to the hospital and Palden was dead upon arrival. Senator Kade Woodley was still in surgery, as was Mapp. Luckily, both looked like they were going to pull through.

Starling wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself. She felt incredibly guilty for everything that had happened. The fact that her friend was lying in an operating room was entirely down to her getting Vale involved in all of this. She gave a heavy sigh.

"Agent Starling?" Clint Pearsall's head appeared around the doorframe to the room and Starling hastened to stand up. "Don't trouble yourself, Agent." He waved a hand, telling her not to get up, and moved into the room, glancing over at the unconscious Vale. "So, all's well? The Doctors say he should be waking any time now?"

Starling nodded.

"Good, good." Pearsall shoved his hands into his pockets and both of them hovered, in awkward silence for a little. "Kade Woodley is out of surgery. They say he'll pull through, for all the good it will do him." Pearsall's forehead crumpled, throwing his face into sharp relief below the fluorescent lights. "He'll get life for what they've found on that disk."

"How will it help the Mendez case, sir?" Starling asked, but only half-heartedly. What had happened today diminished her zeal for justice. She would be perfectly happy if they all got out of this alive.

"We'll see, Starling." Pearsall sighed and yawned widely. "Obviously his case will have to be re-tried. Without Palden's testimony and considering what Woodley gets done for... we shall have to see."

Starling nodded.

Another few moments passed and they watched the beeping monitor, silently.

"You will have to stay under guard until this is over, Starling. I hope you realise that?"

"I know, sir." It was something she had resigned herself to.

They were waiting outside the door to the hospital room, right now – her detail. It consisted of one young man and a slightly older one, who looked remarkably like Bruce Willis. They would stay with her until her involvement with Mendez had been evaluated. That's what the FBI thought, anyway. In truth, they would be with her until tomorrow morning, when Pearsall opened the letter she had sent to his office, explaining her part in this and her guilt. (She had decided it was best to be honest, up front. If this all went wrong, and it went to trial, she had decided she would plead guilty also).

With a sigh, looking down at Vale, she realised the predominant feeling in her chest, quite apart from the guilt and worry, was relief.

Map was going to pull through surgery. The surgeon had come out earlier to assure her that Mapp's injuries, while life threatening, were simple to fix. Vale was going to be okay too. Even Woodley had survived, to testify at the new Mendez hearing. The FBI had the information on Woodley's corrupt finances and time would tell how much Woodley had been involved in. He certainly would not be running for Governor any time soon. The only thing left on her mind was Hannibal. Hannibal, and the man who had called the ambulance in on Mapp and Vale's location – a man who had stabilized Mapp's condition, before he left.

Pearsall sighed heavily from the doorway.

"Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow morning, Starling. This is going to be one hell of shit-storm."

"Goodbye, Clint." She said quietly, watching as his eyes softened. They barely knew each other, but they had barely known each other for a long time. In their line of work, that counted almost as much as undying friendship.

Starling knew that Pearsall was a good man. He deserved to sit in the seat he now occupied. The FBI was a little bit better, just for having him there. What he had done tonight, in trusting her, in working this Woodley thing through against the judgement of his peers, was proof of that. Starling gave him a small smile as he bid her goodbye and exited the way he had come.

She was alone with Vale again.

As she sat staring at his body, she realised that his chest was moving up and down a little more quickly than it had been before. The heart rate monitor had sped up and Starling had the sneaky suspicion that he was already awake. Standing, she moved to the chair that sat right next to the bed, the better to speak to him.

"Hey,"

His eyes fluttered open.

She wondered whether he had been awake during Pearsall's visit and decided that, if it had been her in his position, she might have kept her consciousness silent too. Vale was going to take a lot of questioning over the next few days. He certainly deserved a rest first.

"Is Dee safe?" his first question came out in a rasp.

Starling nodded and, whilst pouring him a glass of water, told him all she knew on the operation and how it was going. Then, she went on to explain how much time had elapsed since the ambulance had picked him up at the warehouse. And who had survived the event.

"Woodley's down the hall. He pulled through surgery fine." She finished, holding the straw from the glass to his lips.

Vale drank greedily.

"I'm glad you're okay." Starling added, in a small voice.

As Vale pulled back and slowly slid himself up against the pillows, there was a semblance of an awkward moment between them. Starling was surprised that, after what they had shared today, they had anything left in them for awkward moments. It seemed that the world had collapsed around them and, somehow, they had both emerged unscathed. She would have thought that bond alone precluded the need for continued conversation. Seemingly, it did not.

"God, Vale, I'm so sorry." She said, so quietly.

Sliding her hands across the bed, she lay her fingers cautiously against his. She did not know if he would take the contact.

He did. His fingers curled weakly around hers and squeezed.

"I know."

"Mapp's going to be okay." She whispered, softly.

"I know." He squeezed again. "They got to her in time, right?"

"Yeah."

They sat in a more comfortable silence, for a few moments. Vale winced, shifting to get a more comfortable on his hard hospital bed.

"You know," he coughed, "he loves you. I still have no idea how that works."

Starling tightened her jaw. Until that moment, she could not be completely sure that Hannibal had been the one to call the ambulance, that it had been Hannibal who had patched Mapp up and saved them from Palden. Now she was sure, she did not entirely know what to say about it. He was hardly the hero type. She did not know what to do with a hero cannibal.

"He saved us, for you."

"Well, I don't know if..." Starling tailed off, cleared her throat and then gave a half-laugh to herself. "Shit, Vale, I don't know what to say."

"It's okay. Don't say anything."

Tears were peeling forth from her eyes, sliding down her chin, into the crease of her lips. She tasted salt.

"Are you going to tell them?" she asked, quietly.

"You have about one hour, before I wake up officially." Vale told her, peering out from under heavy eyelids. "I don't think I'll remember shit until then."

Gratitude came in an overpowering rush. Starling inched forwards on her seat, grasping tighter at his hand. He was warm and comforting and she was overpoweringly happy that he had survived all of this, after her getting him involved. He was a good man. He deserved so much more than a friend like her.

"Thank you," she whispered, quietly.

He nodded and they sat together for a while, neither Agent wanting to say anything. Starling sniffed a little and Vale asked for another drink. She helped him drink through the straw again, then placed the cup back on the countertop and cleared her throat. They sat for a while longer before Vale motioned towards the door.

"You should probably, uh..."

"Yeah." She glanced over at the door. Her detail was standing outside, their backs thankfully turned. "I'll probably should get going." She cleared her throat and then suddenly remembered something she had written, on the way over to the hospital. "Oh, here, I have a letter for you. I didn't know if you'd be awake when I got here and, well..."

"You might have needed to leave, before I woke, right?" a slight smile from him, beneath the bruise that was his jaw. "I get it."

"Here." Starling produced the envelope from her coat pocket and offered it to him.

"Put it under the pillow. I'll read it when I wake up, yeah?"

"I've got one for Dee, too. It's in with yours. You'll deliver it to her, right?" She was stifling back tears again. "Damn." She gave a soft laugh. "I, uh, didn' mean to get all emotional and shit..."

"Emotional's good." Vale gave a wry smile. "It means we're still alive."

Starling watched the man lying in the bed on front of her and she thought how much older he looked, than when they had first met. He looked older, but still there was light in those eyes. He could survive this, she thought. The FBI would not beat him. If there was still light in his eyes after all that he had seen, tonight, and then surely he would not be beaten. The Bureau needed people like Vale. Starling hoped that he would not deny them himself. Maybe he could make the difference she couldn't.

Starling sighed.

Or, maybe, none of them could make a difference. Maybe no man – Agent or not – could make the world a better place, or more just, or more fair. Maybe their job was just to try and keep it all from getting worse.

"You'll go back, won't you?" she asked Vale, through her shield of tears.

He had every right not to, after what had happened today. Starling had seen men and women leave for less.

"I don't know if they'll have me." Vale said slowly, considering the question.

"They'll have you. You brought back Mendez and uncovered a corruption scandal. And, as for the treason," Starling waved her hand, "my letter to Pearsall will explain all of that. I've said you thought you were acting under orders from above – albeit on a covert operation."

"Thanks."

Taking back her hand, Starling began to tidy herself up, preparing to leave. Time was short. If she had an hour before Vale broke the news to Pearsall, then she had to get moving.

"You'll be fine." She assured him.

Vale forced a smile. Starling expected would look more worried if he was not concussed and overcome with the joy of finding himself alive. The precarious reality of his situation would dawn later but, by then, she would be beyond his reach. Whether she was in jail, or elsewhere...

"So I guess," Starling pulled herself to her feet with difficulty, "this is goodbye."

"I guess so." Vale glanced down at her belly and a strange expression, passed over his face. It wasn't quite anger or sadness. Perhaps, it was regret. "I should probably wish you good luck. I'd really like to see you try and make this work."

"I'll send you a postcard," she told him.

"Well, make sure the photo has all of you in it. I'm going to have a hell of a time writing this report, without any supporting evidence."

Starling felt her cheeks flush slightly. A nervous laugh tickled its way up her throat.

"Uh, yeah, okay..." she cleared her throat. "I'll, uh, see you around, Vale."

Leaving was turning out to be much harder than she expected. There was no crescendo of music or final credits. It was just her turning and walking from a room, leaving behind a person who she had come to know and care for – a person who she would never see again. It hurt more than she could ever have imagined and was coupled with the hurt of not being able to hang around, to see Mapp wake up from anaesthesia. It was a luxury she could not afford. There was no time.

In an hour, Vale would report what had happened at the warehouse to the Bureau and her game would be up. She needed to be out and running by then. It was not just her freedom riding on the matter. She carried a life within her which was not tainted by mistakes and felonies. This baby did not deserve to be born in a prison. Due to luck and, primarily, Pearsall's willingness to trust her, she had been allowed relatively free reign, even after walking into FBI headquarters and admitting to being involved in an illicit operation with a convicted criminal. She was not going to take her luck for granted. If the opportunity for escape was there, she was going to take it.

The days of self-inflicted punishment had passed, for Starling. She was not going to sacrifice herself, not this time.

As she made her way to the hospital door, Vale spoke up, one last time.

"There's just one thing, Starling."

She looked back around at him. He was lying back horizontal in the bed, looking very small beside all the machines and drips. His skin was very pale and the bruises on his head were very severe looking beneath the hospital lights, but there was the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

"What?" she asked.

"When we were in the warehouse, Lecter said that Mendez was your lamb. He was wrong."

Starling's forehead furrowed.

"I don't..." she shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"He doesn't see it, because he's too close – or too crazy – or whatever," Vale frowned, "but _he's_ your lamb. He's what you see in yourself. I figured it out when I was high on morphine, in the back of the ambulance." Vale waved one hand, vaguely. "You were both a bit broken. He fixed you."

Starling watched him, surprised by the insight. After a moment, she gathered herself enough to speak.

"You're almost right." A smile twitched her lips. "We didn't fix each other. He taught me that I didn't need to be fixed."

The two friends – or ex-friends, or colleagues, or ex-colleagues, or whatever they were – watched each other across the room. Vale looked contemplative. Starling looked and felt relieved. It had been so long that she had carried the secrets, about her and Hannibal, on her shoulders. Sharing them was something incredibly therapeutic. It was a little bit of a once in a lifetime opportunity, also. Never again would anybody know who both of them were and what they had together.

A few more words crept to her lips, unbidden.

"And he's no one's lamb, but I have more than my fair of faults too. I have killed people that I did not have quarrel with, on behalf of a government which sometimes works for its own, rather than the peoples' benefit. He has killed fewer, with more conviction. We both have ghosts and monsters inside of us and sometimes they win. But sometimes they don't." She nodded to herself. "I'm revelling in the 'don't' right now, because life is short. And it doesn't suck as much, being broken together."

Vale's eyes remained hooked on hers the whole time. Then, he nodded, slowly.

"Good luck, then, Clarice. And run hard, because you know I'll be chasin' you." He glanced over at the clock, on the hospital wall. "That hour I'm giving you is to pay the debt I owe the Doctor. Two lives for two lives – it seems only fair. As soon as I'm up and out of bed, I'll be right back in the Bureau, searching for you."

"I know." Starling smiled. She was glad of it. It's what made Vale 'Vale'. "Don't count on finding me, though." She warned him.

"I'm good."

"We're better."

Both Agents knew she was right, and that they would never see each other again. Nothing short of supernatural intervention would get them back in the same room as one another. Starling had too much at risk.

"I'll miss you." She told him, truthfully.

"Shoot, Starlin'... I'll miss you too."

She left him at that. It did not seem right to pollute their goodbye with too many words. They had both said what they wanted to say and maybe a little more. Hiding the brightness in her eyes, Starling stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

Her two guards gathered themselves from the chair and walked over to her. She motioned that she was heading outside, to the car lot. As they passed the window to the hospital room, she saw that Vale had already laid his head back down and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He was a good man, she thought to herself. He would protect her best friend well, if Ardelia let him. Starling hoped she would.

With her entourage in tow, the ex-Agent headed back out, through the hospital, to the FBI pool car and climbed into the back.

"Back to the Hoover building," the older guard instructed the younger, but Starling chipped in.

"Sorry, could we swing by my place on the way back? I need to pick up a change of clothes and let the dog out. You can come right in, with me. I promise."

The two looked at one another but clearly saw no need not to grant her the request. After all, Starling's house was under police surveillance, and they would be with her the whole time. And, of course, Starling was not actually under arrest. Technically, she was cooperating with an investigation under her own free will. The older guard nodded in answer to Starling's question and directed the younger one across town, to Arlington. In the back seat, Starling ran her fingers across her swollen belly and wiped away her tears. They were tears of goodbye and goodbye was not always a sad thing. Goodbye marked new beginnings too.

.


	69. Chapter 69

_Chapter 69 – Simplicity _

.

They arrived at the duplex within thirty minutes of leaving the hospital, having taken an extra ten minutes to swing by the all-night bakery – a necessary detour, to facilitate Starling's escape.

Parking the pool car behind Starling's two-man police guard (which had been assigned to protect Starling's house, after Lecter and Mendez had escaped) the FBI Agents accompanied Starling inside the duplex. Starling led them straight to the kitchen, throwing her keys down on the kitchen table to reassure them of her intention to stay. Gil the dog bounded around the three of them for a good minute or so, before Starling let him out into the yard. He ran over and did his business before leaping back inside and worrying the FBI man's shiny new shoes.

"Sorry about him, I'll take him next door to give you a rest. Make yourself at home," she told them, motioning towards the coffee machine in the corner. "Help yourself to a drink if you want, I'm going to be half an hour or so. I just want to have a quick shower and pack an overnight bag, if that's okay." She shot them what she hoped was a friendly smile. "Then you can take me back in and question the living hell out of me."

They gave an obligatory laugh and both sat down at her kitchen table.

"I'm sure they just want to check Mendez's story out." One of them assured her.

Starling offered them each a donut from the box she had bought at the bakery. They both took one.

"Okay. Just help yourself to coffee. I'll be as quick as I can."

Starling boxed the rest of the donuts back up and, whistling on Gil, headed on through to her bedroom. As she left, she saw both Agents move their chairs to face the doorway.

Old training habits died hard, she knew, and FBI security training even harder. Starling's kitchen doorway was in-between that of her bedroom and the front door. With no back door, her guard had deduced that Starling would have to pass them before exiting the building. Not that they really expected her to run. That was Starling's only advantage – that and the escape plan that she had prepared for, earlier.

"Come on, boy." Calling Gil after her, Starling walked quickly down the hallway to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Sliding the lock quietly into place, she stepped through to the en-suite and turned on the shower and the radio. The channel playing was one she usually had on, in the mornings, and mainly consisted of talk shows. Happy, chirpy voices were the perfect cover for an escape.

Walking around behind her bed, Starling slid her fingers beneath her bedroom window and undid the latch. It was oiled and silent, prepared for this moment. The window, as it slid up, was silent too. Despite this, and the number of dry-runs she had done of this escape route, Starling's heart was beating rapidly in her chest. This was her only chance at escape. Vale was giving up his story to Pearsall within the next twenty minutes. She had to escape before then or she'd be in federal custody by the end of the day.

Taking a steadying breath, Starling pushed her bed along to lie below the window. It was a new bed, which she had bought a few weeks ago, for this exact purpose. It was mounted on coasters, so that she could easily roll it along the hardwood floor. Once she had the bed positioned, Starling quickly went to her closet and retrieved a backpack which contained all she would need in the coming days; money, a few clothes, fake documents and dog food.

She looked down at Gil.

"Okay, buddy, you first." Gil looked up at the bed then back at her, wagging his tail unsurely, clearly sceptical of this unconventional method of exiting the building. "Come on!" Starling tapped the bed and the dog jumped up. A single dog biscuit through the window was all it took for him to scramble through. Starling thanked god that he remembered the trick. It had taken them nearly three weeks to perfect it. "Okay..." Now, it was her turn.

As Gil pranced around outside, snuffling the flowerbed for any remnants of his biscuit, Starling climbed up on the bed and arranged herself. The whole procedure had been a lot easier a few weeks ago, when she had devised it. Since then, she had gained nearly an inch around the waist and exponentially reduced her sense of balance. Tossing the bag through the window first, she readied herself to follow. She hesitated for just a second or two, looking down at the three foot drop. This was not entire safe. If this all went long and she went into premature labour, her wonderful plan would be totally screwed. But, she told herself, it was her only chance.

Lifting one leg, she swung it out, over the edge of the sill. After taking a moment to get her balance, she followed it with the other one. Situated on the sill, she paused to catch her breath, missing free movement more than ever. She had never felt this unfit before. Ever since she could remember she had been an avid runner. She had always been fit. Jumping through windows had never been a problem before.

Taking a deep breath, Starling shifted herself forwards, sliding over the edge of the sill and dropping out the window. The flower bed below was empty for the winter and it made a soft landing. As she picked herself up, Gil gave an excited circle around her, in joy. Thankfully, he refrained from barking.

"Okay boy, come on."

Picking up the rucksack, she set off around the far edge of the house, taking the long way around so she did not walk on front of the kitchen window. The FBI men inside would probably still be facing the kitchen door, but she was not taking any chances. She swung around Mapp's side of the house just to be safe. It should be another ten minutes before her FBI guard started to get suspicious about her absence and another twenty before they received the call from the Bureau, telling them of Vale's story and Starling's guilt. By then, she hoped to be well on her way.

Quickening her steps, Starling rounded the house and glanced up and down the street. Her heart filled with relief when she spotted a dark red sedan.

He was here.

The escape had only ever been a tentative plan – saved for a last resort. It went something along the lines of; if he learned she was in trouble, or she contacted him to tell him so, then Hannibal would be on her street, within twenty minutes, in a red Ford sedan. All she had to do was get to him. It was, of course, a risk, coming so close to her house, but Starling was fairly confident in her police guard's incompetence. Besides, Lecter had been adamant that she accept his help, should it come to that, and nobody dissuaded Hannibal Lecter when he was adamant about something.

Squinting through the darkness, Starling could see a figure sitting in the front seat, apparently on the phone. It was a man, about the right height and build. She was certain it was him, for the way his silhouette of his head followed her, as she made her way across the lawn. She did not, however, walk straight over to him. Instead, against all sane instinct, she turned and walked over to the police patrol car.

One window rolled down and the familiar worried face of her police guard peered out. Starling felt a surge of relief. She knew the man sitting in the driver's seat. He had been with her detail from the beginning and they had talked a few times. He was an enormous man, whose partner was an equally enormous young man. Tubby and tubby – as one would expect, from their not-so-subtle FBI nicknames – were very fond of baked goods, which meant that the distraction she had procured, at the all-night bakery, would work better on them than on most.

Starling walked over and leant down, producing the box of donuts and lowering it to the open window.

"Hey," she gave them what she hoped was a winning smile.

"Hey yourself, Agent Starlin'." The fatter of the two cops drawled, in strong Virginian tones, "What're you doin' out here? Somthin' up?"

"No, jus' catchin' a ride with my colleague, back there," she pointed back at the red sedan. As she pointed, Lecter flashed the lights once and lifted a hand. Starling felt her heart flutter with nerves, but managed not to show them. "I guess you might'a heard on the radio," she told the cops, "but my housemate, Ardelia, has been involved in a shoot-out, while on duty."

The two cops chorused their sympathy while selecting donuts from the box.

"Anything we can do, ma'am?" the older one asked.

"No, my colleague back there is gonna give me a ride over to the hospital." She smiled, trying to look exhausted and worried about her friend. It was not difficult.

"Is the security detail not going with you?" the younger cop asked, a little suspiciously. "The guys who brought you here?"

"No." Starling shook her head. "She got shot on duty, so they're only here out of protocol." Starling pretended to roll her eyes. "They need to stake the place out, apparently. I don't know why, when we've got two perfectly good cops outside." The two cops puffed with pride and Starling reminded herself to watch her step. Too much flattery was as bad as derision. She had to play this carefully. "Anyway, FBI policy is FBI policy."

The two guards chortled. There was nothing the local police force knew and loathed more than FBI policy. Starling knew that and worked it to her advantage.

"So you takin' the dog with you to the hospital?" one of the guards asked, through a mouthful of donut.

"No, uh, my friend's havin' him for the night." Starling spotted a slight pause in her reply and hastened to cover it up, by offering the box of donuts again. "Say, you two don't wanna finish these off for me, do ya? I got them on a craving, earlier, but it's kinda passed and the sugar's making me nauseous."

Never had two men agreed to anything quicker.

A hand stretched out and seized the box from her, pulling it quickly back inside the patrol car.

"Of course, ma'am, wouldn't want you to feel sick."

"Hand them over here, miss, we'll take them for ya."

"Thanks," Starling waved to the red sedan down the street to start up its engine. It growled softly, coming alive in the otherwise quiet of the night. "I owe you one."

Turning back from the patrol car, her heart was in her mouth. At any moment, the FBI men could realise that she wasn't in the shower. At any moment, they could receive a call from Pearsall, who had spoken to Benedict Vale. At any moment, they could hear a car idling, or the voices of Starling and cops, and – unlikely as it was – decide to check up on it. Then she would be screwed.

She had to move. Now.

"Okay, guys, I gotta run." She gave them another wide smile, her throat tight with a potent mix of terror and excitement. "Thanks for everything you've done. I really do appreciate it."

They bashfully accepted her thanks and wished her and her injured housemate all their best. Starling almost felt bad about the ripping they were going to get tomorrow. Almost. Waving goodbye, Starling walked towards the sedan, careful not to let her legs carry her too fast. She could not be seen to be too eager.

The hundred feet between the two cars felt like miles. All the way, she kept expecting the police car's radio to beep and a voice to blare out, sounding for her arrest. Her body was tensed in anticipation of footsteps on the asphalt, the noise of guns being drawn to bring her in. Swallowing back these fears, however, she kept walking.

The red sedan was idling by the sidewalk, its lights dipped low. As she approached, from the front, the glare of the headlights prevented Starling from seeing the driver. There was a tense few moments as she drew level with it, and crossed across the beam, over to the passenger side. Gil flounced happily around her feet. Such a good dog, she thought distractedly, he never strayed too far. Swallowing hard and hoping like hell that it was indeed Hannibal, she stopped beside the passenger window. Slowly, the window rolled down. Her heart leapt in relief.

"Thank fuck." She whispered, softly.

He was here, for her.

"Taxi for Starling?" Hannibal Lecter tilted his head, looking up through a slightly tinted window. He was remarkably undisguised, for a convicted serial killer parked just down the street from an FBI-guarded house. His only concession towards the situation was a pair of dark-rimmed glasses, which did change his entire face. They oddly suited him.

"Hey."

Starling grinned widely, relief flooding through her and mixing with adrenaline in her blood. She was overwhelmingly pleased to see him but, she reminded herself, she must temper her reaction. This was not over yet. It would not be over until they were out on the freeway, speeding away from this place.

Stepping forwards, Starling restrained her excited dog, who was snuffling at the car tyres, and led him towards the rear car door. Pulling the door open, she clicked her fingers and coaxed him inside with another biscuit. He was eager to comply and even more delighted when he spotted that the car had another occupant. To the backdrop of Starling's apologies, he bounded straight across investigate Lecter's ears over the headrest.

"Sorry, he's a bit over-zealous."

"Charming."

The Doctor gave the dog a single look and it backed off, happy to absorb itself in the new upholstery instead. After pacing up and down for a few seconds, he flopped down next to a leather armrest and began to chew it. Starling threw her backpack into the rear of the car and slammed the door, moving around to take up place next to Lecter in the passenger seat.

"We need to scram." She motioned for Hannibal to move off, pointing to the main road at the end of her street. "Take a right on-,"

"I am, as we both know, very capable, Clarice."

"Please, H, just drive."

Infuriatingly slowly, the Doctor pulled out into the road and they coasted on down the quiet Arlington street, towards the patrol car, in silence. Starling's heart rate climbed higher and higher, reaching dizzying heights by the time the two vehicles drew level. The two policemen raised their hands in greeting and Starling forced a smile, to hide her terror, as Lecter waved in reply. In the seconds afterwards, every inch of her was held tense, expecting to hear the wail of sirens. To her great relief and surprise, however, none came. The rhythmic sound of their wheels against the road tarmac droned on underneath them. The engine kept turning. Starling's heart beat thumped incessantly in her ears as she watched the police car disappear into a blur behind them.

Reaching the end of the road, Lecter turned right and they accelerated, every second taking them further from the duplex and the life Starling had lived there. As they turned down one street and up another, Starling held her breath, not quite able to believe that this was actually happening. They were out of sight of the patrol car and nobody was following. There were no sirens, no whoosh of helicopter blades, no SWAT vans in the distance. Starling could not bring herself celebrate, however. Things had felt like they were going to be all right in the past, and then complacency had come back to bite her in the ass. This time, she was not going to settle into relief until their capture really was completely ruled out.

They travelled two or three blocks, in a new direction, then turned out onto a main road. The edge of town was in their sights; the darker sky, beyond the orange of the city lights. Two minutes passed, in uncomfortable silence as they followed the side roads to the main road and then to the freeway. Neither lover could bring themselves to speak. Starling, for nerves and Lecter, most probably, because he knew Starling could not. From his change is posture, Starling suspected that Lecter thought their escape had been a success. Starling did not become convinced, herself, until they pulled off the freeway.

Green signs overhead directed them onto Interstate ninety-five. Never had Starling seen anything to beautiful. The names of far-off cities were emblazoned white on the dark metal plating, their distances marked in neat numbers marked beside them. Everything was measured in hundreds of miles. Starling's heart skipped faster again, though not through fear or worry this time. They had hundreds of miles to cover – hundreds of miles to put between them and this place. With a shaky breath, she let herself slide down from her adrenaline-fuelled high, a little smile playing across her lips.

"I think..." she whispered across the car. "I just escaped federal custody."

"I think, ex-Agent Starling, you just might have done."

Looking over at her lover, her elation faded and was replaced with a longing, deep in her belly. Lecter's eyes were dark maroon in the night, his cheekbones sharp, from the headlights of cars passing in the other direction. He was beautiful. Though she knew others did not see it, Starling had always thought he was beautiful. It was not his aesthetic beauty, really, though that was still obvious, in a certain light. Age had not softened everything away from him and he had once been an incredibly handsome man.

She had seen the photographs, from his FBI file; a young aristocratic doctor, standing amidst socialites and gentlemen at some social function. He looked so incredibly natural there, like he belonged. At the same time, he looked completely detached from all of them. He looked like something 'other', even then – something beautiful, with something even more beautiful trapped inside. He was older now, of course. There were lines and scars that had not been there in those photographs. His nose was different, broken and fixed at a slightly different angle but, sometimes she still caught sight of that younger man, as they sat across a room.

The thing which made him beautiful, now, was the same thing that made him beautiful in that old photograph. It was something 'other', something that Starling saw, sometimes, shining through. It lay deep to the veneer of a well-groomed human body. Perhaps it was a flicker of a human soul – not so well-groomed but wild and exciting – Starling did not know, for sure. Whatever it was, it both thrilled and terrified her whenever she glimpsed it. It was in his eyes, tonight.

"So, where to, Clarice?" he asked her softly. His voice was like honey.

She might never have wanted him more than she did, right then, in that instant. Their eyes met, across the car, and Starling could not bring herself to speak, or to do anything to interrupt the moment they had created between them. His eyes were so dark and endless and they seemed to be focussed somewhere deep inside her. It had been so long since she had been looked at like that. She hung onto his gaze, drawing out the moment until he had to look away, lifting his eyes back onto the road.

Whispering his name like a sigh, Starling threw her head back against the passenger seat. A tiny laugh bubbled up into her throat, deep, rich and intensely satisfying. They had done it. She had freed her lover and saved Mendez from unjust and certain death. Mapp and Vale were going to be okay – she had called to check on Mapp's progress, on the way home from the hospital, and the surgeon said she would make a full recovery. It had all worked out. Starling ran her hands over her face, exhausted and not quite able to believe her luck. They were free.

"We can go anywhere in the world."

"Okay," Starling replied slowly, frowning out at the few cars snaking their way down the interstate alongside them. "Well, it kind of depends on where you want your baby to be born."

Lecter exhaled softly, a tiny smile playing around his lips.

"Weird hearing it out loud, huh?" Starling asked.

"Very much so."

His left hand found its way over to her thigh, across the car and he squeezed it gently. It was an almost reassuring movement and Starling appreciated it infinitely. Every time she said 'his baby' or 'their baby' or even 'baby', her heart rate leapt up another twenty notches. She expected it would be a long time before she grew accustomed to it.

"Bad weird, or good weird?" she asked her lover, watching his face. She knew the answer, of course, but it was nice to hear it.

"The latter." He told her, voice low.

He gave her thigh another squeeze, rubbing a slow circle across it with his thumb. A moment passed and silence slipped around them again, comforting and warm. In the back of the car, Gil had begun to snore. In the front, Lecter lifted his hand off Starling's thigh for long enough to switch on the radio. When he returned it, her hand moved down to lie over it, fingers tracing the lines of his bones, through the skin.

"I love you." She told him, softly.

"I know." He took another glance over. "How about here?"

She frowned.

"Here what?"

"How about we stay here, in the States." He glanced over, eyes serious. "_My_ child, born in _your_ country, with _our_ name – we can chose any name you want, Clarice, but we'll have to think it through, this time. We might be stuck with it for a while."

"Smith's out of the question, then?" Starling said, through a tight throat.

The adrenaline and emotions of it all was getting too much for her and to hear him talking of their future together was everything her hormone-addled body wanted to hear. She was two words short of climbing across the car and sticking her tongue down his throat. Lecter probably knew the effect he was having on her, because a pleased little smile had slipped across his lips. It did nothing to lessen her wanting to kiss them.

"You get homesick, Clarice, so we will make a home for you to come back to. We will give you somewhere to miss, as we chase around the world – because we will still chase around the world." He glanced over at her, in the mirror, his eyes twinkling. "We will still make love in ludicrously expensive hotel rooms and explore cities with hidden streets and secret markets. I will show you things, Clarice. There is so much to show and we have the time and the money. The Bureau may have confiscated our New York accounts, but I still have Cuba, Chile and the family vault to work through."

She chuckled and interjected, shyly.

"I like the family vault."

The Doctor's lips twitched. "What is it about diamonds and women?"

"I hear they're a girl's best friend."

"Virgil will be affronted." The Doctor chided, glancing back at the sleeping retriever.

"He's just Gil now." Starling told him, firmly.

"If he is allowed to drool all over my rental cars, then I am allowed to call him anything I please."

Starling laughed.

Lecter pulled into the left lane on the interstate and accelerated hard. His window was open a crack and cold air peeled in, carrying with it enticing scents and smells of the world beyond DC. Starling closed her eyes against the sudden influx of stimuli and let herself concentrate on the scents washing over her. Grass and trees, mixed of course with the scent of gasoline.

For the first time in months, she felt truly hopeful. This was not like leaving, the first time. The first time had been riddled with worry and regret – despite knowing that it was what she wanted. She had been filled with guilt, over leaving Mapp behind, but that was no longer really relevant. Mapp had been her friend for a long time, but Mapp was moving forwards into a chapter of her life for which Starling was not required. She loved Vale, Starling was almost sure of it. She hoped that when they recovered from their injuries and the betrayal that Starling had dealt them, they were sensible enough to pick up where they had left off. The world did not pause for the unsure. Life did not pause.

Her lover's hand tightened on her knee and Starling opened her eyes again. The sun was rising out of the passenger window, lighting the horizon in pinks and orange.

She turned to Lecter.

"Take me south, H, I'm cold."

He did.

.

They drove south with the rising sun, pausing when they wanted for sustenance and sleep. There was no particular destination to their journey. Rather, it was a celebration of their newfound freedom; one final fling, to give Starling time to choose a home, because it was always going to be her choice. It was Starling who needed a house. Lecter's idea of home was less about bricks and mortar and more about the woman sitting across from him. She was his home and the pull towards her would always be stronger than the pull of any physical place. He would run with her anywhere.

They drove for almost a week. Some hair dye and a new haircut for Starling and a beard for Lecter proved disguise enough for them to travel incognito. Riding high on their freedom, they looked nothing like the haggard people in their mug-shots. They watched the report of their escape, two days after it was first aired, at a gas station in north Florida. The man behind the counter looked Starling straight in the eye as it was playing behind them, and grumbled that you couldn't trust a government who couldn't keep their damned cannibals locked up. Lecter, rummaging through the magazine rack, quietly agreed. They had laughed all the way back to the car.

Despite the dizzy heights of their newfound freedom, Starling still could not choose a place to settle down. Every morning, she flattened out her giant roadmap of the United States of America and traced her fingers along the interstates and side roads. She followed the network of tarmac, searching, but nothing felt right. Eventually, one morning, she found it.

They had turned back from Florida, heading north along the coast. The cold seemed to gather in the air with every hundred miles. Days became noticeably shorter. They stopped one morning, on a side road off of route seventeen, just north of Charleston. Being free to sleep and drive as they pleased, the fugitives tended to drive late into the night and sleep late into the morning. It was easier. There were less people to be bothered about and more road to be covered. The night before this one, they had not stopped for rest. Starling had dozed in the passenger seat, while her lover made short work of the South Carolina coastline. She woke as the sun rose and asked to pull over to stretch her legs and take in the view.

It was beautiful. Around a mile from the coastline, they could see the whole of Bulls bay spread out on front of them. Water shining silvery-grey in the thin morning light. Gil the dog snuffled through the grasses and Starling emerged from the car, wrapping her coat a little tighter around her. Her lover, after a quick stretch, pulled on his own coat and wound the top down on their newest transport – an old convertible, which he had rather taken to, in Miami and bought on a whim. It was a little cramped, with the three of them, but nobody was carrying much luggage.

They sat in the open car and Starling spread her map out, over her belly. Lecter showed marked disinterest as to her movements, tilting his head back to enjoy the mid-morning sun. Though they were heading north, they were still far enough south for its rays to be warming. Starling leant back against him, her finger following their route up the coast into North Carolina, then Virginia, then on, past their old haunts in DC, to Maryland. Her finger followed the gentle eastward curve of Chesapeake Bay, and then slowed near its tip.

"What about this place?"

The Doctor hummed, not particularly paying attention.

Starling tapped the map where the shoreline jutted out into Chesapeake Bay. The name of the little town was marked just above where her bulging navel lay, beneath the map.

"H?"

"Yes?" he opened one eye.

"I think this is it." She pointed at the town. "I mean, I looked it up a couple days ago, when we were staying near that internet cafe, in Atlanta, and I think this might work just right. It's not far from Baltimore and I like the Chesapeake area. It's a small town, but not too small. They're selling off a couple of old estates along the outskirts. We might have to do somewhere up, but it would be good value for money. I think..." she held her breath, tracing the route back north again, and then let out a sigh. "I think that's where I want to be."

Lecter watched her carefully.

"I thought you were cold, in the North."

"We were both born in the North," she smiled, a little shyly, "metaphorically as well as physically. It just seems right." The wind whipped her hair about her face. Nearby, Gil barked at a passing bird. As Starling lay back against his shoulder, Lecter traced the line of her cheekbone, down to her lip. Her skin was flushed pink. "Besides," She closed her eyes, letting the wind wash over them. "I miss the cold."

"You miss the cold." He echoed, softly.

"I do."

A beat, or two passed, in silence.

"Take me North, H."

He kissed her lips.

And then he did.

.

He drives her north along the coast, through the lowlands to the rolling hills and forested valleys. They sleep their way back in luxury hotels, making love across silk sheets. They take an extra two days to skirt widely around DC, more out of sentimentality than real risk. Turning back eastwards, they pass through Baltimore on their way, visiting the old asylum. It is just a disused building, now, crumbling at the seams. There are no ghosts hovering there, for either lover. They stop and watch it anyway, for a while, not saying much.

Starling asks if Lecter wants to see inside. He doesn't, so they leave.

As their faces fade from the television news reports, they arrived in Chesapeake Bay and seek out Starling's town. It is everything she hoped it would be; small enough to be private, close enough to the cities to keep Hannibal interested. Starling would have her rolling fields and woods. Her lover would have his culture and his opera. They find a beautiful house on the outskirts of the town and buy it outright, in cash. It is a little broken, a little shabby, but she thinks she can fix it up and he wants to let her. They move in straight away.

In life, some things in life were wonderfully simple. She needed to fix things and he needed to let her – because they were infinitely happier together than ever were alone. Hannibal Lecter would always drive Clarice Starling halfway across the country, just because she was cold. And Clarice Starling would always love Hannibal Lecter. End of.

Simplicity does not mean that their life together is going to be easy. Neither of the lovers is naive to that fact or naive in the ways of the world. They have been scarred and broken so many times. They have seen things that nobody can see, without losing a bit of their humanity. But their experiences have only ever assured them of the importance of the instant. Life is harsh and impermanent and the world will rip pleasure away, if they let it – so, they don't. They buy a house. They make a home. They love and they fuck and they lose themselves in one another, until one has to come up for air. They roll deep and hope for the best, because that is all anyone can ever do.

Sometimes, lying awake in their shared bed, with his lover lying beside him, Hannibal wonders how it ever came to this. How the world could ever give two people, such as them, a sanctuary? He also wonders, sometimes, if they are both deep rollers and what that means for any offspring of theirs. He tells her this, just once, and she kisses him, until he nearly forgets.

What does it matter, she asks him, placing gentle kisses across his face. Her fingers brush like butterfly wings across his skin. What does it matter, what the rules say? Since when do rules matter, to people like us? We were never meant to last – we were never meant to even be – and look what life has brought us! We have a house, a home and a life together. Look what we've made, she whispers, into the crook of his neck. We've broken their rules to make our own world. Who says you can't roll deep here?

She is bathed in the half-darkness and infinitely beautiful.

Sometimes, things are painfully simple.

He loves her, so he tells her so.

.


	70. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

_._

_At the close_

.

Time heals most wounds. Ardelia Mapp's physical scars had all but faded, as the six month mark came around.

Standing in the offices of the Behavioural Sciences Unit, deep within the bowels of the Quantico Virginia buildings, she was slowly packing manila files back into a large brown box. The label was turned away from her, at the moment, but she knew the case number off by heart. It was Lecter's case, box three of five. She was packing it away for good. The whole case was to be moved downstairs, to cold case storage. The FBI was ready to put Lecter's case on the back burner, for now. This second escape was an embarrassment that no amount of work could compensate for. So, they had decided to bury it. The team assembled to Lecter's case was reassigned. His files went back into storage.

Mapp could not quite bring herself to feel anything but glad that the case was closed. In the first days, when she had woken up in hospital and Vale had told her what would happened at the warehouse, she had been full of rage – towards Lecter and, of course, Starling. But that had faded over time, just like her scars. The welt of her best friend's betrayal did not sting so much, in retrospect. It no longer felt so personal.

Starling would never have meant to hurt her. Mapp knew that. Her actions and her choices came from somewhere deep and uncontrollable. Love trumped logic and explanation, Mapp knew that. Still, it burned a little to think of Starling out there, living the life that she had chosen.

"You're thinkin' of her again." Vale's voice sounded from the darkness of the empty office.

Mapp looked over, a smile spreading across her face. Vale had been her god given solace, over the last few months. She had worried, at first, that their experience in the warehouse would taint the rest of their relationship, but it had done nothing of the sort. They had recovered together, both physically and mentally. She had put in her transfer to the Behavioural Sciences Unit, to follow the Lecter case, and they had worked it together – their special interest in the case allowing them certain leniency, where their relationship was concerned. The no-fraternisation rule, between Agents, seemed to have been waived. Mapp suspected that Pearsall had put in a word, on their behalf.

Raising a file in greeting, she beckoned Vale over. He sidled up and placed two mugs on the table.

"Coffee, strong, black, with extra sugar."

"My hero."

Mapp reached down, scooping her mug towards her and drinking down a large gulp. Her body sang in response to the caffeine. Vale walked over to the table as she drank and began to leaf through the few remaining files and photos.

"I love this one."

Mapp looked over.

Vale was holding an A4 sheet of photo paper. From her angle, she could only see a small portion of the photograph, but she knew which one it was. She allowed herself a little smile. Starling, standing across the way from the DC courts. It had been taken just after the last day of the Lecter trial, when he had been sentenced to Death, by lethal injection. She was half-leaning into the wind, her arms folded across her belly, with John Marshall Park as her backdrop. The green grass offset her chestnut hair beautifully. It licked like flames, around her shoulders. Her eyes were distant, her expression defiant yet somehow deeply vulnerable.

"I loved this photo in the paper. She hated it," Mapp told him, moving to stand at his shoulder. "At the time, I thought it was 'cause it showed her hurtin', over having to see him."

Vale shifted back, a little closer to her.

"I expect she prob'ly was hurting," he told her, softly.

"I s'pose."

Mapp sipped her coffee. Vale took one last look at the photo then placed it in the box.

"Want me to help you pack this all up?"

"Yeah."

They packed it up together, folding the documents and photos into their appropriate folders, slotting the request forms in underneath each. It was a bit of a mess. As they swept the last few papers into the box, Mapp could not help but think that Starling could have done it better. But Starling was gone now.

When the table was clear, Mapp took a few steps back and placed her hands on her hips.

"That's it, huh?"

"Not quite."

She looked over at Vale, who had reached inside his coat pocket, to produce an evidence bag. Mapp's sighed softly as she remembered what was inside.

"I guess you better bring that over too."

Vale watched her carefully. His brow was furrowed, throwing his gaze into shadow.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Pearsall said you can keep it, now forensics have gone over it. It's yours, after all."

Mapp felt a little smile tug at her lips. Like Starling, the postcard was never really hers. It belonged to Starling and Lecter. It was a nine-by-four inch declaration of love and fidelity, between two people who could hardly front up at FBI headquarters and declare it in person. A photograph of Starling, carrying a few-week old infant, and two sets of prints, neatly placed in the lower right-hand corner of the page.

There was a message there for Mapp too, but the Agent hardly had to keep the postcard for that reason. She knew the words off by heart.

"It's okay, Vale. Put it in."

He looked like he was going to ask her if she was sure again, but thought better of it, after meeting her gaze. Mapp thanked him, under her breath. There was probably some deep-seated psychological reason that she did not want to hang onto the card, but she really didn't need to go into that, right now. Things were just getting back to normal in her life and a photograph of her best friend and her cannibal lovechild was hardly going to help, sitting around her apartment – or taped to her fridge.

"Well," Vale walked over and dropped the postcard in, removing it first from its red and transparent evidence bag.

It lay on top of a closed folder like an odd bookend to the whole case. Mapp wondered whether Starling and her child really would be the end of it all. Would they ever need to add another victim folder to Lecter's file? She doubted it. Even if he killed again, the Doctor had far too much to lose by being careless. This would be the end of the Lecter case – whether the powers that be, within the FBI, liked it or not.

"That's that."

"That's that."

Vale nodded.

Both of them stared down at the photograph.

Mapp could not help but think about the two sets of prints found on the back of it. Starling's and Lecter's; side by side. She had cried so much when she had read the forensics report, on the postcard. It was a definitive answer, she guessed, after all the conflicting witness reports of the Woodley incident. Though she knew what had happened – and, in retrospect, could remember having seen the truth in her friend's eyes, several times – knowing it was their fingerprints on that card had made Mapp break down completely.

She had shouted and swore and eventually collapsed down on the floor, leaning against Vale for support, and cried until she couldn't get another tear out. Then, she had read through the message on the back of the card and cried some more. After it was all done, however, and all her tears were spilled, she felt a lot lighter.

It was odd, really. Mapp had always imagined that it would be she and Clarice who would grow old side by side. If she had ever imagined leaving the FBI and kids, then Starling was always in the picture. They had been best friends and Mapp could not quite imagine a life without her. Yet, that life had crept up on her, without her even noticing. She had moved on. Starling had moved on. Their paths had set them at perpendicular angles to one another.

Here, at the close of their time together, Mapp could see that their friendship had reached a natural conclusion. Both of them had changed too much to walk side by side, now. Mapp still had something to give the FBI and she wished to give it, wholeheartedly. While Starling – poor, broken, tortured Starling – had found somebody else as badly broken as she was and they were going to find somewhere to slowly heal. (Or kill and eat people. Mapp was pretty sure it was the former, but you could never tell. Starling had surprised her before).

Mapp sighed and took one last look at the postcard, before picking up the top of the evidence box. Despite the sins of its parents, Mapp could not help but feel hopeful, for the child in Starling's arms. If the world could grant a man such as Hannibal Lecter a second chance then, surely, a child born of love would find its way in the world?

"It feels kinda like closure, doesn't it?" She asked Vale, quietly.

Her partner just nodded.

He was good at that – letting there be silence, when there were no words to say.

Mapp placed the cardboard top back on the evidence box and lifted it over to sit on top of the others, before stepping back, to stand beside Vale. He slipped one arm loosely around her shoulders, kissing her on top of the head. She leant against him, finding comfort in his solid form. He was always there. Mapp reminded herself never to forget that. She had a good man at her side. The world could be kind, as well as mean.

They stood, watching the box, for another minute before Mapp spoke again.

"You know, I kinda resent the fact they won't put her name on the label."

Vale looked over, mildly surprised.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It is, technically, a joint case an' all."

"...it is." Vale said, thoughtfully.

"She's got a rap sheet as long as my arm, it's not like she don't deserve her name on one of these." Mapp shrugged.

They two Agents looked at each other. Vale lifted an eyebrow.

"You think she'd like that?"

"I think she would."

Un-looping his arm from around her shoulders, he stepped forwards and took a red marker pen off the nearest desk. Slowly and carefully, he printed 'Starling' into the case name section of the label, along side 'Lecter'. When he had finished, Vale replaced the pen and stepped back to stand next to Mapp, folding his arms across his chest thoughtfully.

"I guess that's that, then."

"I guess it is."

Mapp swallowed.

Vale nodded, curtly, and turned his attention away from the boxes, over towards the office doors. Mapp followed his gaze, to the clock that hung there. Its pale white face told her that the time was quarter to nine. Damn, it was getting late. Where had the day gone away to, Mapp wondered? She made an inner pact to get home early tomorrow, before remembering that tomorrow was a Saturday and heaving a heavy sigh. She would go home early next Friday, then.

Turning to Vale, she hid a yawn behind her hand.

"It's late." She told him, unnecessarily.

"I know." He nodded towards the exit. "Come on, let's get out of here. I'll buy you dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah – I'll take you out somewhere fancy, save you dinin' alone. Think you can handle that?"

"Well," Mapp shrugged then, throwing one last look at the boxes, turned back to Vale. "I suppose I could handle not dining alone. Starling did always used to say that some things were better with two."

"Did she really?" a smile and something hidden flittered across Vale's face.

Mapp wondered, briefly, which of her words had prompted his smile, but decided not to ask. She had the rest of her life to find out what was going on behind his eyes. Tonight, she thought, she was going to lose herself in his lips, his voice, his touch. They were young and free and that mattered, especially when life could get snatched away from you at any point. Her time in the warehouse had taught her that. She was going to live hard and enjoy every second of it. Vale included.

"Come on. Dinner." He took her hand and started walking, leading her away from the boxes and the cold light of the underground office.

It was easier to walk away than Mapp had ever imagined. Vale's hand clasped tightly around her own was all the pull she needed.

They walked over to the doors, past the cubes of identical desks that made up the Behavioural sciences bullpen. They walked towards the exit, discussing possible restraints, under a board which held posters of the FBI's most wanted. Lecter was no longer among the faces up there. The FBI knew when to sweep certain cases under the carpet. This was one that would remain there, in the dust, for a long time.

Vale switched the main lights off as they left, plunging the Quantico office into the eerie green of the emergency lighting. Vale and Mapp did not pause to look back at it. They continued on, up the stairs, chatting amiably to one another.

"So, I know this great little place around the corner."

"It better not be that place with the dodgy pizza," she warned.

"It isn't. It's a million times better, I promise. Plus, the chicken is amazing and you _know_ I know my chicken..."

The door shut slowly behind them, hinges rotating silently inwards. As their footsteps began to fade away on the stairs, the room they left behind settled into its nightime routine. As the door clicked home, the air conditioning cranked up a notch, rattling faintly. Its noise was the only accompaniment to the faint electronic hum of the computers which stayed, day and night, on standby in several of the offices. Nothing else disturbed the silence of the green-hued room. Everything was quiet. Everything was still.

The cold case evidence boxes lay in their neat little pile, labelled one through five along the side. Shadows fell across them, painting their sides in innocuous shades of grey and green. Nothing on their outside alluded to the beauty and the horror of what lay within. They were perfectly regular. Standard and square. If anyone were to look carefully, however, they would notice that the names 'Lecter' and 'Starling' filled the label on the front, reserved for the case name, almost exactly.

The Doctor had been right. Some things were better with two.

.

_A/N - _

_I would usually take this last note to give a special mention to the people who have supported me all the way through this but, really guys, there are nowhere near enough superlatives in the English language for me to describe how awesome you have been. Please just know that writing this fic has been a much greater experience for having you there to read it. _

_Over and out,_

_Silver. _


End file.
